


Paradis Lost

by HaephestusCrex



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon-divergence AU where the ending is just happy, Cultural exchange, F/M, Gen, I just like Erwin and Levi leave me alone, Multi, Plotless, Romance, Woc!reader, You're a badass, and this is not the happy ending isayama will give us, but let me have this wishfulfillment, dark tragic past, don't expect big deep shit from this, many bad things, my boi erwin still got an arm...for now, social inequality, that's it that's the major divergence and then it's au lmao, trying to be better than the people before us, very very tragic, wholesome shit we dont get in AoT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 122,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaephestusCrex/pseuds/HaephestusCrex
Summary: You're the Dame Legate on an outreach mission from the whims of your nation's leader within the crumbling Middle-Eastern Allied Forces. Word had spread from flimsy reports - and a pilfered newspaper, trading many hands, detailing that the people of the Walls have crowned a new Queen and the wave of ignorance forcibly put upon its peoples is ending.They send you, and your team - deep, deep into titan country in a hurry to get to them before anyone else can, to try and secure a more peaceful world.  But you're underprepared, there's not enough shells, an abnormal takes out your supply wagon, and in polite terms: you're fucked.Luckily for you, the Survey Corps are currently on an expedition, and the course of your life would change rapidly from there.
Relationships: Erwin Smith & Reader, Erwin Smith/Original Character(s), Erwin Smith/Reader, Erwin/Reader, Levi/Erwin Smith/Reader
Comments: 65
Kudos: 92





	1. Crossroads

_Chapter One_

**Crossroads**

Some people live quiet lives. Ordinary lives. That’s okay, and in fact, once upon a time - and in your weaker moments, you’d wished that for yourself too. You’d come a long way - a long, long way from the beginnings you had. If someone told you, you’d be waist deep into titan country, in the thick of the worst shit imaginable - worse than even your upbringing, you’d have laughed.

“Ah, fuck me sideways, we’re waist-deep in the shit!” your voice rings out across the grassy plains with all the authoritativeness that only a leader could possess. Birds took flight from the nearby tall trees in response, as though your snarls broke the sound barrier itself. Fuck. This expedition was becoming less and less worth it the deeper you got into titan country. All because of some sketchy unreliable report that Paradis might actually be receptive to foreign contact for the first time in a long time. “Warriors, disregard the distract, defend and deter non-offensive protocol! Engage all titans as the enemy!” - this was always an unwelcome order, but your soldiers complied. Some with a scream of hopelessness, others - afresh with a thirsting rage that their comrades had fallen before you gave the order.

God. It sucks to be a leader.

“We’re surrounded at all sides! Dame Legate! We need to get you back to the extraction point!” - your second in command, Sahtar, is snarling at you as a tall, 7-metre beast looms over in your direction and is closing in the fastest. The horses are, at the very least, very fast and very aware of the dangers ahead. Your heart is pounding in your ears but it doesn’t even register that it’s hurting and feels like it’s bruising against your ribcage. This endless nightmare to the Land of Walls and Secrets was turning out to be more and more a pain in your ass than any of you had ever thought possible, but your nation was counting on you.

In that moment, you made a decision, and your hoarse throat once again, emitted a command so loud that a nearby - slightly taller titan, to the right of you - who had helped in the pick-off of some of your exhausted support crew, began casting a shadow over what was left of of you and your people, as it had began leaping instead of merely running, giving it a bizarre and unsettling gait as it flit between both actions, but importantly, some frightening speed.

“No! We’re too far in to turn tail and go home with nothing but corpses! Nobody else is going to die today! Ashwari - guide my horse for me!” you rise up quickly, knowing that trying to stand on a running horse was going to result in you falling if you tried to do this for too long, but you didn’t need to do it for too long.

“You’re going to fight that?!” Sahtar screeches at you, scandalized and horrified by the concept that you'd attempt to physically attack a titan of this size. But you’re low on shells for the Anti-Titan Artillery - you’d taken the lightest thing for horses to pull, but it kept your speeds low and eventually, you had run out of ammunition when an abnormally behaving titan had managed to pounce the supply wagon. The plan was originally not to engage, to take out eyes and ankles and occasionally split the team up to divert the titans stalking the horses that are slowed down by the military gear. Hand to hand combat with a titan was considered suicide and you’d seen enough of your comrades try and fail, but you were the best during field training for this scenario so you would have to try.

“I’m going to _**kill that** **!**_ ” the cry that left your throat ripped through the air, hopeless noises and loud concern drowned out by your own charge towards the great lumbering creature. It was just like the exercises - you told yourself, and the times you’d manage to take down pure titans that had been seized for training exercises, once it became apparent that the humanitarian view to try and spare them didn’t mean shit when you were between its jaws. Some scholars said life was agony for a titan, and you had to tell yourself that just to make this sit right in your gut, and that killing them is a kind of mercy.

The damned unsophisticated grapple systems you had to work with were shit for speed, but you were fast on your feet and brutal in every respect required to survive this onslaught. Anti-Titan gear was predominantly focused on long-range weapons, not one to one, because early on, many of the allied forces just considered it suicide to try and engage one to one, so upon developing the hardened curve blades for the last resort eventuality, not much was done on that front. Now as a result, there is the very big possibility you will, in fact, die - and your promise wont mean shit, but if that’s the case, you’ll be too dead to care. With that sort of flippancy but unmovable resolve, you hear a few of your squad yelling and screaming as you fire your left arm grapple towards the closest titan.

It shoots up into the titan’s side and you spring as high as you can off of your horse, feeling the air whip around you as you do. The downside was the lack of propulsion, the pulley-system was fine but it didn’t give you _speed._ However, titan combat was only something that had been at the forefront of your nation’s interests as of this year, when reports of what was happening in the Land of Walls and Secrets had come to light. You’d only been focusing on titans recently, when they were more of an unfocused, scarce threat. These men were as ready as they were going to be in the short time your superiors gave you to do this mission, but it wasn’t ready enough - that was becoming apparent with each loss of life.

“Dame Legate!” you hear a panicked cry as a large hand reaches to swat you as you swing towards the titan’s body, but you narrowly avoided it, by quickly extending the pulley-wire so you were around the titan’s legs, missing its hand, and then, very quickly, your combat boots make contact with its flesh, and quickly begin running up the length of it - having landed on its back.

You fire a second pulley directly into its nape, the pull helps your running become faster, you unsheathe your slightly curved, crystal-like blades, similar to that of all of your soldiers, and begin slicing deeply into the nape of the neck. The flesh is not as tough as most people would think, or perhaps just this part is particularly tender, but the crystallised blade sears through it like a hot knife through butter. The titan lets out a defeated wail that shakes its entire body from head to toe. Its body beginning to lurch forward as any hope of picking you off with it’s abnormally stunted arms, dies along with it.

You can feel the titan begin to fall, and steaming blood land on your blade and uniform. “All sniper teams with any slight ammunition left, continue the long-range bombardment to the eyes of the 4 and 5 metre titans trailing us, but signal me when a titan is getting too close to the horses!” your heart feels like it wants to come out as you’re falling, because as the titan begins to collapse, you see a large, lumbering - God - what was that? A 15 metre monster? Your words, and current action however, implied you’d be the only person who would attempt to deal with another titan, should they wander too close to the flock.

_Ah, shithouse. I might die tonight._

As the titan falls, your group gets your horse to circle back to you and you’re able to slide down the smoking, scorching hot titan flesh until you’re back in the saddle, but keeping one sword in hand to point. Leading is about making tough decisions, but also, equally - it’s about image, and inspiring your brave squadron. Even if you’re leading them screaming to their deaths, that was a burden that had to rest on your shoulders.

“FIfteen metre is gaining quickly, but we’re exhausted, we still have an hour until sundown at best, but I don’t think we can last that long. Rahib is ready to fall off his horse!” - your second in command looks at you with pleading eyes, because he’s desperate for answers, or more of you simply soaring through the sky to tear down their problems, out of all of the squadron, you had managed to land the most successful kills. It felt like for most the part, most of the people you had left were better for assists.

“Horses are tired too, nothing else for it - we gotta try and lose them and get high enough into the trees with the grapples to set up camp, but only if we can get somewhere titan-free enough to secure the horses or we are screwed in every kind of way!” you spit viciously into the wind. Fuck this.

The fear in the men is tangible, and they’re good - but being good only gets you so far, they’d witnessed twenty-seven of their own kind get destroyed in the name of this expedition. The crunch of their bones would fill your ears every time you closed your eyes. But you’d already showed them that the impossible was possible, and that the one to one titan training they’d done in the ruins of Fort Slava had not gone to waste. You could kill these things without the artillery, but so far, only you had successfully managed out of all those who put up an admirable attempt. A year of titan focused training and underdeveloped melee weapons was not enough. Even if your squadron were considered the best, you were becoming exhausted - and each leap towards a titan filled you with the raw, primal fear that you could slip up and become their next meal.

“Shit, we really are running dick-first into enemy territory,” you muttered to yourself, trying to stop your hands from trembling around the reigns of your horse. There’s still a titan on the other side of you - but it’s maintaining a little distance at least, but you can’t run forever, and you aren’t ready to try and face a fifteen metre behemoth - not without the Ultra Long-Range Bombardment Rifle, you’d only taken down a few smaller beasts, and only since the supply wagon got destroyed by an abnormally behaving titan. It was a litany of fuckups, from an under-prepared expedition from weapons to training - all because of an overzealous King who ordered you to get to Paradis before they take any action against Marley, and to secure a potential ally.

“What’s the plan?” you hear one of your men scream - and honestly, you don’t know, you just raise yourself up on your horse, hoisting up one of your clear blades in a way that reflects the sun.

You suck in a deep breath, the fifteen metre is close enough for you to aim your grapple and begin to change the direction of your horse so you can swing behind it and not land directly in the line of fire of its mouth - if you can stick one of your swords deep into its back when you run up there and keep yourself in place with it.

_And here I thought I was going to die with a drink in my hand and a bedwarmer by my side._

**_**“We slaughter them all!”** _ **

Your feminine bleat for all out war echoed more than anything else so far, and your body soared through the air slowly, using only momentum from your jump and whatever speed the retracting grapple could offer, but the closing fingers of the fifteen-metre giant almost got ahold of you - when it suddenly tries to squash you like a bug against its own body and put you into it's mouth after. Not unlike the previous, smaller titan, but this one was quicker with its reflexes, and might kick you if you suddenly extend the wire and drop out of its hand’s range like last time.

You swipe through their fingers clean through instead with tremendous speed - just as they were going to close around your body, with all the strength you have - as you’re slicing through bone, but in truth it’s the material of the sword doing a lot of the work. The fingers fall unceremoniously on the ground, but the titan doesn’t break stride, and your combat boot finally makes contact with the wrist. You begin running up the arm of it, your eyes not leaving its mouth for a second.

Getting this close is a horrible idea, but you didn’t land directly on the back of the creature this time. This was a horrific angle, but you had finally got one of your other grapples back for your right arm and could now aim for its neck with more accuracy, which your distance at ground level on your horse did not allow on something as big as a fifteen metre titan.

You just had to jump away from its mouth when it would inevitably snap its jaws at you like a piranha, and use that momentum to assist the grapples retraction speed to land on its neck and slice the thing down.

Missing your timing is suicide, and you feel a wisp of warm, flowing tears from either adrenaline or the very real realisation that this could be it - because no way could you sustain this long enough to reach the Walls, and if another titan comes out before you can hide, you’re truly fucked.

Your war cry elicits a reaction from your men, but you feel yourself falling - before you can really make sense of it. A green blur rushes ahead of your vision, squarely flinging itself into the nape of the fifteen metre titan with such incredible speed that all you see is the glint of something metallic and a large spray of blood as the creature begins to steam, and you feel the heat of its death cries begin bubbling under its flesh as the warmth briefly went through your boots to your feet.

“Dame Legate!” a few of them cry out your title, your closest comrade calls you by your name, though, as you begin to fall.

_What’s….happening? I’m…. falling…._

It feels like your thoughts are in slow motions as you helplessly try to pull your grapple back - but it needs to fully retract from the titan flesh before it can stick you to a nearby tree - and not for the first time, you want to scream at how low speeds on these fucking one to one weapons will kill you long before a titan does.

_All this….and fucking gravity kills me?_

You close your eyes, feeling the air around you encasing your body and your bangs flying forwards as you fell towards the ground - head first.

Sahtar despises that all he can do is scream, he knows he wont be fast enough to try and save you, and he’s already lost so much time.

He doesn’t want to lose you, and he doesn’t want to arrive at the Walls with no commander.

But you’re all too far too turn back.

* * *

A piercing but fleeting pain jolts through your entire body as you wheeze, the air around you seeming to stop whipping your ears, skin and bangs so harshly. Everything had reached a blissful pause, though you felt as though you’d landed on something hard enough to knock all of the wind out of your lungs. It burned slightly as you tried to get that oxygen back, and you’re reluctant to open your eyes and see yourself on the ground, just waiting to be titan food. You wondered, briefly, if it was possible that you broke every bone in your body to the point your mind was too shocked to process pain.

You should be in agony, Hells, you should have died on impact. Now that’s the best death you can get in titan country.

“Alright, we’re clear! Scour for abnormals!” a woman yells, though the accent is different, and sounds very, very close - like it’s above you, you are still a bit dazed. Wrenching your eyes open, you see nothing but the glint of a pair of hardened, strange glasses staring down at you. It takes you all of a second to figure that this person had caught you from dropping, but your mind wasn’t quite ready to make logical connections yet.

“Ha! For once I’m right on time,” she grins, though she isn’t speaking to you. You stir in her arms, blinking a few times to look up at her.

She breathes out slowly - and you can see the mist from the cold air waft over you, further clouding your vision a bit.

Your thoughts are a blurry mixture of confusion and shock, but you manage to string together enough braincells in your shaken state to blurt out something meaningful.

“ _Thank you.”_

Though, you must have hit your head on your way down, because your eyes don’t stay open for long, and everything turns to a comforting black - all you can hear is Sahtar’s concerned screams fading out quietly into the darkness.

“Gonna live to fight and fuck another day,” you think, and feel your lips move, but it’s all just a blur - you feel so free from your body, like you’re detaching yourself utterly as Sahtar’s voice fades into a final nothing. Exhaustion overtakes you, and you slip into a sweet, sweet, concussive sleep.

You miss all the tension your slurred words - though clearly heard - manage to dissolve utterly in the Forest of Giant Trees.

You miss the startled laughter.

Everything is black.


	2. Dignity

_Chapter Two_

**Dignity**

Sahtar is a large, burly man who is wide as he is tall, muscle straining through his slender, beige uniform that is adorned with a singular silver medal along with a connecting chain across the breast. He has brown hair that is so dark it’s basically black but shines mahogany under the dimming sun, and his eyes are a void of onyx. He has hard-set features and rides along side the Survey Corps as they easily secure the area.

A woman by the name of Hange Zoë gently lowers herself down in a few plumes of steam and loads you onto a surprisingly empty supply cart, which for once, does not have the corpses of the dead inside of it. A rare sight in the Survey Corps, even with the most advanced squads out there. The first thing they all notice is that you’re all of a different race, with dark, tanned skin and eye colours they aren’t used to. Sahtar’s voice is loud, booming, and reminds Hange of shattering stone, though she notes the different inflections in all of your teams voices, and the way certain letters hang differently on your tongues.

By the time you awaken, the large, looming grey walls begin to come into view as dusk slowly settles and it becomes lit by the torches of soldiers trailing the perimeter up above it. Sahtar is short with everybody, but states the following.

“We’re on an outreach mission from the Middle-Eastern Allied Forces. I’m Vice Legate Sahtar. That woman,” he gestures to you as you softly groan, the voices slowly filtering in over the sound of the horse hooves and the light bounce of the wooden cart against the grass.

“Is my superior, Dame Legate Senset. So be careful with her,” from the look in his eyes, it’s easy to tell he’s not fond of anybody but your team even handling your body, but he swallows his pride and has to be incredibly grateful for being so expertly rescued from titan territory.

Eventually, he begins talking - at least, introducing the others, and stressing that they’re not hostile. The Survey Corps are distinctly uneasy, but it’s Hange who decides to step over Levi - the one who took down the 15 metre titan, and invite the group through the walls for questioning at least. It’s what they’ve all been starving for, after all. Some interaction with the outside world that isn’t hostile, proof of other life - and true to form, none of your men draw their weapons to their captors. The only thing they refuse to do is be overly social until you’re awake, repeating that they want you to be awake before they divulge much, but repeatedly thank the Survey Corps for the assist.

“Ah, fuck me Sahtar,” you groan, because his voice is naturally loud, and it makes you turn your head and have your nose brush the hard, splintery wood that forces your eyes to wrench open. “You’re about as friendly as a dick in a beehive, this is supposed to be a friendly operation,” that probably wasn’t the first coherent think you should have opened with, “Sorry about him, he doesn’t play well with others,” you begin rubbing at your eyes, slowly trying to rise out of the cart and piece together what’s happening.

Some blood had been wiped from your head - and it’s explained that the short boy with the flat expression had cut down the 15 metre titan while you were singularly hooked onto it with one grapple, making you fall when the titan did. The goggles-sporting woman with a messy ponytail who is persistently leering over into your space to get a good look at you is the one who caught your body and got you safely loaded into their supply cart. During your brief nosedive, though, your head had caught a blow against one of the heavy branches in the Forest of Giant Trees, and you had a slight concussion. Your lewd and callous words catch everyone but your team off guard, however, and no one immediately replies.

All Sahtar had done was explain all of your titles and the members ranks, and roughly the geographical location across the sea with which you had all originally sailed from to get from Fort Slava to the island. The heavy bombardment gun that was being pulled by a very tired pair of horses was simply explained as an Anti-Titan weapon, and this had caused a ripple of debate which had launched Hange into a veritable frenzy until she was told, quite forcibly by Levi, to calm down. They had obviously physically looked you over a fair bit, though - as much as the presence of your comrades allowed them to do.

You don’t rush to speak much more, still trying to get yourself fully coherent, rubbing your eyes. You notice your sheathed blades were taken off your sides and put next to you instead.

“Ah, you’re finally awake,” Hange bubbles out first, unable to contain herself any longer. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Hange. Cool it. The woman’s hit her head,” now, Levi doesn’t care much about anybody according to most, and certainly not strangers, but he knows it’s invaluable to humanity that connections are forged beyond the walls now that they know they aren’t the only ones. It’s equal parts exciting as it is dangerous, and the last thing anybody deserves is to have the full freight of an overly excited Hange assaulting their ears after having a pretty nasty concussive blow to the head. “The last thing she needs is you filling it with nonsense. Calm down until we can get to Commander Erwin.”

You squint at the man a bit, remembering the flurry of green that had swiped into the back of the fifteen metre titan’s neck, and the black mop of hair. “I was only half-lucid while everything was being explained. You cut down the fifteen metre titan I was stuck on? Thank you.”

Levi doesn’t react, but just looks at you, and then at your arm grapples with the light trace of a sneer. He doesn’t voice his thoughts, but the Survey Corps had been in the trees for a while when they heard artillery fire, and saw your group in action. They saw you rally your men, they saw the slowness of your gear and your very much physical descent up the titan’s body with only jumping, running and the mild strength of the pulley wires retracting abilities to assist you.

The last thing you wanted to do though, was appear like you truly had been knocked for six. You had led those men screaming into the heat of battle when you had run low on Ultra Long Distance Bombardment Rifle shells. They needed to know a little concussion and gravity hadn’t slain you with nothing else had managed thus far.

You’ve lumbered upright, and your hair is a wispy mess of bangs, more locks falling messily from the once tight, large upward black haired bun. You can feel all the sets of eyes on you now, and your squadron is thankfully quiet. A momentary pause of peace and silence falls, and everyone thankfully lets you collect your wits, not rushing you to talk too much too quickly.

“I suppose we owe you some answers,” you start out diplomatically enough, but the leader stops the words in the base of your throat. They must be clueless - these poor miserable bastards, wiped memories, an isolationist state with no interaction with anybody save for potentially hostile encounters from those across the shortest distance between their island and the nearest land.

“Tch. We should save the conversation for later, save you repeating yourself,” Levi says, finally. He’s not looking at you though, he’s looking up ahead at the tall, imposing walls.

You’re about to say something - until you follow his line of sight and feel all the saliva dry up in your mouth at the sheer immeasurable sight of the walls. Taller than any titan you had seen since you’d left the Middle East, the only thing that came close to these heights was the Giant Tree Forest - which had been strange enough when you’d first ridden into it. But here it was.

The Land of Walls and Secrets - as it was called in your other tongue.

There it was.

The world ending walls, that filled with slumbering monsters that could end the world. It seems your comrades shared your quiet awe, because none said anything as men were snarled at to open the tremendous gates and allow your entry. The skies were dark by the time you had gotten to the gated lands, the stars were out.

You felt your breathing hitch a bit - you might not be much of a scholar, but there was something tremendous and awe inspiring about being the first people to step foot in such an isolated place that weren’t direct citizens or somehow of Eldian blood.

Hange Zoe rides ahead of everybody, because she wants to speak with Erwin prior to bringing you to his attentions.

“It’s fortunate that this was a late expedition trying to recover an abnormal, returns from day rides are always full of gawkers,” Levi bites out disdainfully, but that’s the only conversation he has with you, to be honest. However, you notice his eyes were carefully trained on you and Sahtar - but mostly you, rather than your other comrades Ashwari, Reza, Amir, Ryka, and Rahib, who had fallen asleep on his horse more than once. All of you looked like Hell, which at the very least, corroborated that you had been deep in the titan countrysides for far too long.

You, however - are trying your best not to so obviously convey this. You crack your muscles audibly and dust off your military uniform. Your outfit is staunchly different in that while it is also beige, but has a golden crest and chain to your medals, and an insignia of a lotus that sat on your left breast. Your outfit also has firm pauldrons that give you a firm, confident shape and a natural air of masculinity and firmness. You run your fingers through your now mussed hair and grimace when you feel a sizeable lump deep beneath your locks on your scalp.

Yes, that is a concussion - no doubt, a nasty one at that.

Everything else is a blur of bodies and distant, wary stares, or openly slack-jawed and curious. Nobody approached any of you, though.

Sahtar and your men were getting treated for medical wounds, as many of them had sustained injuries when attempting to assist some of your previous direct parleys with the titans. You had, however, insisted you were fine - and would get checked in the morning. If only because you felt an unsettled anxiety until you’d met the people you knew you’d be dealing with and know that they will treat you decently.

It’s the best you can hope for. The Eldians can’t surely be as bad as the Marleyans would have the world believe, or if so, at the very least, not the poor bastards who had their memories quite publicly stolen from them in the name of peace. Everyone knew the story. It’s a shame that the people themselves were the last to find out, a tragedy in itself, to be honest.

They lead you to a rustic, wooden barrack that is none too subtly guarded by a clean shaven, young looking boy, whose tasked with holding your weapons. You’re told it’s because you’ve been injured, but you know better. You’re a foreigner from a strange land, who was armed, of course they wont led you keep your curved blades.

“I’m guarding you as well as everyone else,” the boy says gingerly. You snort, but kick yourself back in the chair, putting one leg lazily over the other. “Captain Levi and Hange are just talking with the commander, and then he’ll see you soon,” the boy, however, is just openly staring at you, running his eyes curiously over all of your physical differences in muted wonder.

You had the sense you were going to get a lot of that here.

“You? Guard me? Don’t make me laugh kid, you look like you’re still stuck to your mother’s tit,” at that choice moment, the door has come open, and you’re staring into the dimly lit meeting room.

* * *

The wooden door swings open after what feels like an hour, but you’re more than content to sit in silence, wondering if your men are doing okay and are being treated well by these people. They’d saved you thus far, but you had to wonder how good the doctors were considering they’re still using candlelight and burning sticks for light.

The flat-faced boy, the titan slayer, opens the door, and gives you a nonplussed, stoic look that did not betray a single thing to you.

“Commander Erwin will see you now,” he holds the door, implying that he himself isn’t going anywhere. You raise a brow at him, and hide your visible exhaustion - you had even managed to briefly fall asleep in that uncomfortable chair with how long the wait is.

First impressions count for a lot, though. So you squash back the yawn, dust down your uniform, and twist your fingers into the messy bun, taking out a long, firm ribbon that had your dark hair falling in neat, long waves that surpassed the bangs that framed your face neatly.

You stride in with one foot forwards and an easygoing smile while you do it, blissfully ignoring the quiet threat of Levi Ackermann’s presence, and only give an acknowledging nod to Miss Hange Zoe - for recovering your body, before turning to the one person you hadn’t met yet - the man of the hour.

“We were just explaining how we recovered you and your group beyond the walls in the giant tree forest,” Hange begins, too excited to really be focusing on the kind of demeanour you were giving off. You shake your head left to right, freeing the more trapped locks until it fell easily down your back. You put a hand on your empty holster hip-belt, trying to ignore the unease of not having your blades in favour of putting on a casual smile.

“I just explained to him a few things Sahtar had told me - about your big gun and your titles. In truth he didn’t explain terribly much, he insisted on wanting you to be awake,” Hange finishes - and Levi remains silent, back leaning on the closed door.

“I understand it’s late, and that you and your men went through quite a bit,” a deep, rumbling voice with a natural air of command seems to halt every dust speck in the room, freezing the atmosphere utterly.

“So I won’t keep you too much, but we need to talk,” the accents here are much different to your own, calmer inflections, no gentle rolls of certain letters. It seems all the more noticeable in such a powerful presence. You bring your eyes to the source, who adjusts an candle lamp on his desks and relights it so that it illuminates him more clearly.

For a moment, you are struck into silence. The man has sharply cut features, and cold blue eyes that glittered like the luxury lagoons of home. He has a somewhat large nose that frames the rest of his features perfectly, and neatly parted, immaculately blond hair that, even at this late time of night, did not look unkempt. His desk is littered with drawn up tactical formations and from the looks of the uniform you can see - he’s got the same gear as the Survey Corps who rescued you in the woods.

“Please, take a seat,” his request jars your brain into an active mode, and you make your way to the marginally more comfortable chair than the one you’d been stuck on for an hour just outside. The tiredness returns instantly once you’re on a seat again and you chew back another watery-eyed yawn.

You wanted to appear easygoing, but not outright disrespectful to these people. The man has an incredibly calculating gaze, and it bores under your skin as he hardly blinks when he addresses you.

You introduce yourself with your full titles and name, and he returns the favour - if only to get the niceties done.

“Commander of the Survey Corps, Erwin Smith,” he says, and he extends a hand - ignoring how Levi narrows his eyes in natural mistrust. His hand is - warmer than you expected, and you firmly close your fingers around it - so, it seems some customs haven’t utterly died here, at least.

He then rests his hands underneath his chin after retracting, and looks at you with that deep penetrative, appraising stare. A sort of palpable tension settles over the room in your quiet, contemplative pauses, because nobody rushes to keep the conversation going, in fact, the quiet moments just feel like observation that - somehow, isn’t awkward, because everybody in the room is doing it.

“I need to thank you for the job your Survey Corps did in saving us in the forest,” you break the silence with that, reclining backwards a bit in the chair to fold your legs over out of habit. You’re desperate to keep your casual airs, the last thing you needed was any hostility here.

“My men were suffering, we were getting picked off by titans, our horses are exhausted, and we ran out of ammunition for our Ultra Long Range Bombardment Rifle - that’ll be the anti-titan artillery your comrades will have mentioned. Its downside is, it slows our horses, but it’s the lightest thing we’ve got that can spit out quick, repeated rapid fire.” You thought skipping to the point might help, and Erwin nods - you can hear frantic scribbling as you talk, without looking, you can tell it’s likely the goggles woman - Hange.

“I see,” the Commander is contemplative, but his reaction doesn’t give you much. His eyes don’t break from yours, and yours are a bright, glowing ember that dance like fire underneath the candlelight, and to tell the truth - it’s the first time he’s seen that exact colour of iris, he thinks. Or he would have remembered it. Everything about you and your people is different, you come up decently tall, though still half a head shorter than him, but your hair is softer, darker than black, and skin a deep, tanned brown that he’s never quite seen before.

“We mostly do long-range combat and follow a distract and deter non-engagement policy, because at home they’re a scarce threat. We had a year of titan focused training before we heard through…. flimsy means that you may finally be open to foreign contact. My King ordered an expeditionary party out as soon as possible. They never thought this day would come,” you leave out a fair few political things - it’s late, after all, but you get the sense that the commander realises that. “The day the Land of Walls and Secrets might finally be able to see us,” - the name sends Hange scribbling into a frenzy, Levi is silent at first, and Erwin slowly lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and continues to stare into your soul.

Surprisingly, it’s Levi who speaks - voice full of disdain.

“A year of focused training is not enough to venture deep into titan territory, and your grapples are shitty,” he said coldly. “It’s a miracle you killed anything without your titan guns.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.

For a moment, you smirk - and then, very suddenly, and a little alarmingly, you let out a loud, bitter, startling laugh that sounded so devoid and hollow that, despite none of the people in the room knowing you, it would set anyone’s teeth on edge from the sheer vacancy and emptiness behind it.

“No shit,” you snort loudly and ungracefully. “I asked for more time. Called it a suicide mission. I didn’t sign up to run dick-first into enemy territory, I had to because my team was the best one for the job. There’s other factors at play here - but it’ll take a lot longer to discuss than you all think,” you rub your eyes now - and it’s under the light - once Erwin forcibly pulls his eyes from yours, that he looks beneath to see the tired bags being illuminated beneath them. It’s difficult not to stare at you - you’re proof of everything he’d ever hoped for on two legs, of a world beyond, people living harmoniously in spite of titans and not just behind the walls. Your existence brought so many questions, but it also provided so many answers, and he has no doubt he will sleep with a smile on his face for having laid eyes on you and your men.

“And I don’t know how you expected to kill any titans without any propulsion,” Levi then falls quiet - though admittedly, he is a little impressed. Him and his squad had watched from the trees for a while when they heard the last of your shell fire. They heard your rallying cries. They saw how slow your gear was. They saw that you were scaling up the bodies of titans by running as fast as you could after sinking in hooks. It is not only a miracle you slaughtered anything, but it spoke some volumes of your skill. He wouldn’t voice that though, he didn’t praise inefficient methods.

Erwin soaks in both Levi’s statements, and your words, and recalls the detailed play by play that he was supplied before you entered. You have a brash, brazen and callous demeanour, there is a certain coldness about you masked under a thick veneer of rough and tough, sexualised and angry vernacular that shielded your stubbornness and dignity. He’d met your types before, but none exactly quite like you.

“I understand,” he says after a moment, gears turning behind his eyes. This would likely shape up to be a long, political discussion that, in truth, he and his people don’t even have the faintest understanding of the world beyond to truly discuss. They’d have to start from the ground up, and that wont happen at midnight, after a concussive injury and losing most of your men. “We have a lot of ground to cover it seems and it will not happen in a single night. Not this night, anyway.” He says, quite firmly, ignoring the indignant squeak of Hange, who couldn’t bare the thought of not picking your brain for everything you know, right here and now.

“However, accepting people into our walls after all we’ve been through is also an eminent threat, and whilst I do have my own thoughts on the matter, after you and your men have been treated for injuries, you’re going to be detained. Comfortably - you’re not criminals, but, understand my position,” Erwin says - and you grimace, because you do, if you pictured yourself knowing as little as the walled off society knew, and were the commander here, you’d do the same.

He rises up slowly, and you mimic him on instinct, which jars you out of your tiredness. “I would like to thank you, however,” - these words silence Hange’s frantic scribbles, even.

“You and your men’s brave journey to our land has brought us the best news in decades,” at your questioning look, the man’s cool, blue eyes seemed to fill with a warmth that you didn’t feel like you entirely deserved, merely for existing. “That humanity beyond the walls exists, and thrives beautifully in spite of it all,”

The yawn finally escapes after that statement, and you mentally curse at yourself and consider apologising, only for the Commander to cut you off.

“For now, I think we all need to retire for the night. I will send for you in the morning, and we’ll proceed from there,” he finishes matter-of-factly, before looking at Levi and Hange.

“I’m entrusting the Dame Legate’s care in the barracks to the Levi Squad for the moment being, Post a guard at one of the empty officer rooms and keep all of this quiet. The gun is being brought in to be inspected at a later date. Nobody we will need to inform will be awake or available right now. So everybody get some sleep,”.

Erwin Smith’s eyes linger on you for a short moment, and just like that, you’re dismissed.


	3. Dawnbreaker

_Chapter Three_

****Dawnbreaker** **

The room that you’re led to is a little dusty and untended, but it isn’t filthy - just unused. It’s moderately sized and there’s candle coves built into the walls to illuminate the simple space. The linens are clean and look soft, the bed itself is just barely double-sized but more than enough for you after you’d been through the hells of the titan wasteland with rotational sleeping schedules and constant movement from the terror that persisted at your heels. Levi assigns you one of his squad members who you hadn’t spoken to - a rather long-faced boy with an equally neat sort of atmosphere about him, though far less cold and monotone.

_These are the devils we’re meant to fear? Their soldiers are barely grown men._

There was a stark difference between the Eldians of Marley that you had the displeasure of dealing with, and these people - though there’s still space for them to slit your throat in your sleep, there is a certain genuineness you’ve encountered since your arrival that wants to have you believe that these people aren’t quite so terrible. The initial pretense of this all was to make allies and bedfellows where you could, but before sending a politician to their death, the crumbling Middle-Eastern Allied Forces declared a peaceful mission of soft integration would be best. That was, of course, assuming you’d survive traversing the fields of titans.

“You’re sleeping here,” the man felt like he needed to say something, though his stare is also quite a thoughtful one, you don’t feel too intimidated by it. However, his words do bring something to your attention, all of your squadrons supplies will have been taken somewhere also - though a majority had been lost on the ammunitions cart that had been destroyed by the abnormal titan, there was still a few basics you were missing.

“Thank you…soldier…?” you trail off, wondering if the man would give you his name or if he has the same frosty disposition as Captain Levi. It seems, however, that he isn’t quite sure what he thinks, and just states his name with a flat awkwardness.

“Jean Kirstein,” he says stiffly. You let out a small hum, and address him directly.

“So, Jean _Kirstein_ ,” that soft roll of the r in his name makes his ears want to twitch - it’s not unpleasant, but it seems like it does nothing but add to the pile of differences between you, and the people who’d rescued you. “-Could I trouble you for something to sleep in? A titan took out half of our supplies and I suspect they’re….somewhere, no?” you make a casual wave-off gesture with your arm to show you’re far too exhausted to care that you don’t have all your things, but acknowledge that they’re being holed up _somewhere_ \- but don’t consider it an immediate concern.

“Yeah, it’s being put somewhere until the morning after you’ve spoken to the Commander a bit more and they figure out what’s happening,” he looks at you with a firm, unwavering expression “-that’s all I know,” - though he continues to carefully observe you as you walk around the room a little, looking in the empty, dusty drawers before sitting on the edge of the bed, your shoulders slouching instantly from the exhaustion that once again caught up to you.

“Do you know where my men are?” - you remembered Erwin’s words - _you’re not criminals -_ but being separate from them, without your gear and being guarded, it felt a bit debatable. Though honestly? With the sorts of things people say about Eldians, this is a very calm and somewhat reasonable response for an isolationist nation.

“They’re in medical, but there’s not enough officer rooms, so they’re being kept in the spare trainee barracks where we can keep an eye on them,” he says, trying not to look as awkward as he feels, and failing.

He’s apprehensive, and almost as mistrustful as Levi, but without your weapons and after being addressed by the Commander himself, Jean is hard-pressed to argue. He supposes that you being given an officer room is out of respect for your parallel rank to Erwin’s - if his understanding of what Sahtar was saying during your unconscious period was understood correctly. You were a force to be reckoned with, but also an ambassador of another land, and they’re hungry for some sort of olive branch from the world beyond titans.

It’s still strange to him, however.

“Then I’ll want to see them first thing in the morning, before anything else. Think you can… tell that to whoever needs to hear it?” despite yourself, giving orders feels natural, and though you’re asking as nicely as you can manage, it’s still an order. Jean, however, grateful for not having to flounder awkwardly, nods firmly. This he can do.

“Of course… Dame?” He tests your title on his tongue nervously, and when you don’t react negatively or positively, he takes it to mean he’s not messed it up, and closes the door. He gives you a few moments of quiet peace and an alien sense of safety that the titans had taken away, once he’s out of sight. The comfort of the modest boxed-off space and being behind the impossibly high titan walls made you feel strange for feeling so safe. No wonder Paradis was undisturbed for so very long. It must have been easier in the beginning of it all - to forget about everything and take shelter from the world. Then again, those people didn’t know - perhaps they still do not - that their walls house titans in them.

There’s a lot of things that are tragically public knowledge from history lessons and textbooks you grew up on that shakes you to acknowledge that the people here didn’t find out until very recently. There’s still potentially so much you can tell them, and the idea of it being in your hands - someone who is no scholar - is nauseating to a degree.

At that moment, you’re interrupted.

_Knock knock._

“Come in…?” you say, sounding a bit dazed. It still didn’t feel quite real, to be given a warm bed and medical attention if required after hearing for so long what people thought of Eldians. Hells, after what _you_ thought of some of the Marleyan Eldians you’d dealt with, the kindness and diplomatic handling was a lot smoother than you’d expected.

It’s Jean, again. This time though, he has something long and white draped over his arm, whilst looking a little sheepish.

“This is all I could get at short notice, it’s not exactly nightwear but it’ll have to do,” he offers you what looks like a long, white men’s shirt that at the very least is silken to the touch and only has a few buttons on it, as it was clearly meant to go underneath a jumper or something, and belonged to someone very tall. Maybe Jean himself, but you don’t question it - and thank him tiredly.

“We’re under orders not to ask you too much until we can all have a meeting tomorrow,” Jean says, unprompted, but he quickly averts his eyes as you begin unfastening your medal and loosening the uniform around your neck and chest a bit.

You’ve travelled a long, long way. You’ve suffered a lot of losses, and you spend most of your time around sweaty, foul-mouthed men, so you don’t really think much of it as you do it.

“That so, Kirstein?” you say, your voice now breaking a bit and sleepy tones were more prevalent than ever now that you were on a nice, safe bed. “-Well, I see why. I can understand everyone might be burning with questions, but getting to you was a bitch and a half, you know.”

When Jean doesn’t speak - you continue, realising that as aloof as he’s being, he is still obviously hanging onto your every word with rapt curiosity.

“We lost a lot trying to get here as an ambassadorial mission. We trained, but didn’t have enough time, weapons or resources. Those great ugly fucks beyond the walls took out a lot of my people, and none of us have had a full nights sleep since we left Vazira,” you said, punctuating it with a yawn.

Jean, however, hangs onto the last word you utter.

“Vazira?” - he questions it, and breaks the ‘don’t bother you’ rule, since you brought it up. You smile blearily, though it isn’t full of much joy now the full, crushing weight of just how few men you’d arrived to Paradis with had finally sunk in now that you had enough quietness with your thoughts.

“Home,” and that was that. He gives you a long, lingering and curious stare before your earlier words sink in, and he realises quickly that an inexperienced team sent deep into titan country from a foreign land - where titans were scarce and mostly an intellectual or specialised training exercise, must have utterly destroyed your morale. Even with your easygoing smile and forthcoming nature, Jean Kirstein recognises the sunken look in your eyes, shadowed with horror and loss. He knows it because he sees it all over the Survey Corps.

He knows it because he sees it in his friends, and himself.

He takes this moment just to nod, chew back his questions, and simply say goodnight - as tomorrow would bring a whole new world for everybody.

* * *

When dawn finally breaks, there is a palpable air of tight anxiousness and trepidation. Everything felt simultaneously still, and overly active. Ever soldier in the barracks was desperate to preoccupy themselves in some way, or were trying to remain utterly calm, and quiet - as though nothing is amiss. The kind of atmosphere present was a mix of a frenzied anticipation, because so many of them felt they were on the precipice of change, something big.

There were ceaseless murmured conversations and debate from the lower ranks all the way to the highest echelons. It only got worse when none of the foreign visitors were able to wake up. The men who were in the empty trainee barracks were given some more time to rest when it became apparent that they had been in the titan wilds so long that all of them hadn’t had more than three hours of sleep in a night. Even you, the leader, for all of your nervousness and sense of feeling out of place, you had managed to fall into a deep, but uneasy sleep.

It was as though all the pressure and the length of the trip had manage to override the crushing grimness of the loss of so many of your comrades. It came in your dreams in intermittent bursts, but you’re so exhausted that you barely remember any of it. You had missed the sensation of a bed so much that, despite being in a strange land in a form of detainment, you had peeled out of your sweaty uniform and into the long, white silk shirt that your guard, Kirstein, had given you. It fell down to your thighs and it gave you a sense of comfort and peace despite it all. A lost sensation.

You’re so far into your sleep that when a different member of the Levi squad persistently raps on your door, it barely registers. After a moment, the door swings open, and you hear a startled, awkward voice.

“Ah - ah, um, could - could you please get ready? Y- you um, the Commander…” it’s a female voice you don’t recognise, and you stir in response, wrenching your eyes open to give her a guarded expression.

It’s a young, round-faced girl with wide eyes and dark brunette hair tied into a soft ponytail, not Kirstein. You wave her off and look at your stinking combat boots and well-worn uniform and raise a brow, not really caring about your poor state of dress so much as the fact you felt unwashed.

“The Commander understands I’ve been deep in the shit for over a month in titan country. I could use a wash, do you think you can stretch to that? Not to be rude I just - “ you make a point of sniffing your arm and grimacing. “I fucking stink,” - at this, the girl nods quickly.

“Um, yeah, let me - I mean, we have a women’s washing area. It’s um, cold,” she’s staring at you as you stretch your bare legs and grudgingly put on the trousers of your uniform so you’re not walking around in just the sleep wear. Her name, you learn, is Sasha Blouse, who you learn was part of a supporting squad when you were being rescued.

Everyone is surprisingly accommodating - and Sasha even finds you something that fits quite snugly around your thighs, a pair of men’s trousers and a shirt from one of the taller boys that still felt a bit taut around your shoulders and chest, but did the job. You washed out your boots a little, and were even able to check on Sahtar and the rest of the men. Some had bandages on, others were in quiet conversation with overly curious members of the Garrison - the men with roses emblazoned on their uniforms. You learned they were the ones who guarded the titan walls, and were now regularly liaising with the Survey Corps in an effort to double up the defending of the walls.

You garner as many stares as your men do - even more, in fact. There’s whispers and looks - something you’re quite used to. Sasha was no different, though it isn’t malicious - you’re just different, the darkest skinned person she’d ever laid eyes on was the old trainer for the cadets, Keith Shadis - but you and your men stick out, like a fire at sea.

Some of them don’t know if you can understand them, and you know that one of your men, Ryka, speaks very limited Eldian - and largely speaks the second language of Vazira as his first. He seems to be doing okay enough though - by staying close to Rahib and limiting his speech, which only seemed to drive more curiosity from the soldiers, who had never heard a language other than their own before.

Your things have apparently also been deemed safe, and Sahtar is going to sort through them later and have whatever is yours sent up to the officer room you were given, but the anti-Titan artillery seems to be the focus of all the soldiers you’d come across.

“Commander Erwin,” Sasha blurts out nervously, stopping short of walking right into the man when she finally leads you to his quarters. You suppose the man himself was quite busy and was working where he could get the most peace. You turning up on this land had probably thrown a spanner into what was considered mundanity here.

“You- your guest? Um, she’s here,” she gestures quickly to you, radiating a casual awkwardness. The Commander, ever the professional that he is, simply takes her strangeness into easy stride and dismisses her summarily.

“You can head to the training rooms soldier. We’ll be down shortly,” - Sasha looks between both you and Erwin when he states this, as though apprehensive about leaving you there with him, or him with you, but quickly nods and bounds down the corridor away from you.

And then, there was a brief moment of pause and silence between you and him. The dust settles in the air, and you can feel the weight of this man’s stare far heavier than anybody else’s so far. This one however, it’s not just searching every inch of your body, he’s just locked onto your eyes, staring down into them as though he’s searching for something.

“We’re going to have an assembly, so that you can share all that you can with us. Afterwards, I would like very much if you were to join me, Commander Pixis of the Garrison, and Premier Zachary for a meeting,” at your blankness, his impassive features shift to something close to gentle, though his expression doesn’t change too much, it’s just a subtle little relax of his brow and an understanding gaze.

You don’t know much about the inner workings of their land, even if you perhaps knew far more about their history than any of the full blooded citizens.

“Premier Zachary is the head of all three military regiments we have, he’ll be in attendance as the head of the interior has more active duty. There’s a lot of people interested in what you have to say,” said Erwin coolly. Your expression doesn’t give much away, though. You just stare up at him for a moment, before leaning your weight on your back leg with a bent, graceless gait that oozed of a quiet confidence.

“Right, of course. Yes. That’s fine. Expected, actually. I just - argh, this is - I’m not even sure where we’ll begin. We prepared for this, obviously. But I’m not a scholar. Neither are my men. But my nation wanted to test the waters by sending people who could defend themselves against titans first, as emissaries of peace,” you grimace a little bit, because there were far more educated and better preparation that could have been done for an ambassadorial mission. “So we’re the best you’re going to get, for now. I hope that’s going to be enough for you, Commander Erwin,” you let out a long, tired sigh. There was more to say, but the middle of the corridor outside of his quarters was probably not the time or place.

“It is,” he speaks with a definitive confidence despite not hearing a single thing from your lips about the actual true nature of their history - as it’s understood by the rest of the world, but your mere presence seemed to instil something in everybody here. They sensed the waves of change, and they were already here for it. “I stand by what I said when you arrived, Dame Legate. Your presence is welcomed, despite the measures we’ve put in place,”.

Your eyes linger on him for a moment, and you catch his brief glance towards the golden metal chain and medal you’d insistently kept from your unwashed uniform and pinned neatly onto what Erwin assumes is a white under shirt from his soldiers. The only other thing that’s authentically yours are the tall, brown combat boots that are caked in blood at the soles, but he can tell you’re freshly washed and at a bit less spent than when you’d arrived. Erwin can tell that his orders are being followed by his soldiers, just from looking at you, so at least things have a decent starting point.

“Your second in command has taken some of your things down to the room we’re using. If you’re not too hungry, we want to get an early start on all this, and then we’ll move from there,” he turns now, and begins taking long strides towards where the assembly is being held. He’s clearly used to people following him naturally, and so you end up falling into lock step purely to try and maintain some sense of control, even if you have no idea where you are, or where the man is taking you to. So far, everybody here has been nice, and these infamous Eldian devils - have been nothing but accommodating.

“Alright, Commander Erwin,” and with that, you both fall silent, until you get to the classroom space that is dedicated to formation talk, titan theory, and cadet training.

It’s a simple classroom that isn’t too dissimilar to the ones back in your homeland. There’s short desks and a large board with chalk markers for drawing tactical battle formations. The room itself is filled with the entirety of Levi’s squad - all those involved rescuing you and your men, and of course, your men. Ryka keeps to himself, but Sahtar merely has his arms folded besides the moleskin bag that held all of your travel necessities.

Inside you can recognise the girl from earlier - Sasha, the Kirstein boy, and the young fellow who had held onto your weapons - who had a shaved bald head and a very young face about him that you had previously jibed at while tiredly waiting for the commander’s attention. Then, of course, there is Levi himself, Hange - who demanded to be present, and quite a few people you hadn’t seen in the barracks for various reasons, or were not present during your rescue.

The moment you enter, you’re the centre of attention, even over Erwin, who calmly stands by the window, closest to the blackboard for observation. It’s a little awkward, but nobody seems to be noticing, or caring.

“Good to see you awake,” Sahtar smirks at you, and you just give him an irritated look - yes, you’d slept in, but you’d also done the lion’s share of physical exertion for this whole expedition. Wisely, however, you keep from griping at him in front of potential allies and just roll your eyes instead.

“Well, I didn’t think you needed so many babysitters but apparently you just can’t live without me,” you respond sweetly, before turning to the class, however, no laughter or snickers occurred. Everybody just seemed tense with anxiety and a desperate need to have you start talking about the world outside that you just scratch the back of your neck awkwardly for a moment before sighing.

“Ah shit. They prepared us for this but I don’t think anybody expected us to actually survive titan country long enough to get here,” you feel weird, and awkward standing in front of them like some kind of teacher, so you move to the closest desk - which, coincidentally, belongs to a stoic, but quietly pretty young girl who looked like she had some Hizuru heritage - if you had to guess, anyway, and plant your backside firmly on said desk. She doesn’t react, but just cranes her head up a bit patiently to look at you.

“You were sent on a suicide mission?” someone with a naturally impatient tone bursts up, and you turn to the desk beside the woman’s that you’re perched on, to be face to face with a rather hard set looking young man. He has his eyebrows drawn into a natural frown and a tense, expectant look on his face, set behind burningly green eyes that looked like they were trying to bore through your soul.

“Why did they want you to come here? Not that we aren’t excited, but why would somewhere expend resources to have you die for a diplomatic mission?” - it’s Kirstein who spoke. It’s an intelligent question too, that one that many share once it’s asked, but before long, you’re flooded with queries before you can reply.

_“Where did you come from?”_

_“What do you want?”_

_“How many people actually live outside the Walls?”_

_“Who--”_

“Alright, alright!” you suddenly raise your voice when everything because mashed up amalgam of voices, before either Levi or Erwin regain control of the room, your voice naturally booms across the classroom with such a sharpness that everybody quiets in an instant.

“Everybody shut the fuck up a second!” you snap, before dialling back on your loudness when you realise just how quiet it makes everybody go, some of them cringing into silence that almost makes you feel bad. Shit.

Surprisingly, it’s Levi who reiterates on your sudden outburst and keeps the room cool, and calm.

“Let her answer or we’ll be here all damn day,” he says - his mere slight annoyance seems to be enough. Levi Ackermann is a man who commands silence whenever he wants it, though Sahtar - who is used to being around someone like you - even moreso than the rest of your men, seems unperturbed, and even vaguely amused by the whole fiasco of watching you attempt to start a diplomatic meeting. Only to begin with _shut the fuck up_ , because, of course you do.

“Sahtar, put up a map on the board please so everybody can see. The sailing map,” you specify quickly “-lets start from the beginning, because I don’t know how much you know,” - you assumed nothing, but surely it couldn’t be as bad as the stories, right?

* * *

It was exactly as bad as the stories, the old king really did take everything from these people. There had been a ripple of gasps when you had pointed to where their island was located, and that it was even an island to begin with.

It was, in short, headache inducing.

“When we heard you’d ousted your old dynasty, our nation within the Middle-Eastern Allied Forces wanted to be the first to broker peace, because your neighbours - Marley, have done nothing but destroy us inside and out,” you said quietly “-they have warred with every surrounding nation and they have won. They wish to violently expand no matter what the cost. Nobody touched Paradis because of the threat of the titans in your walls---”

“You knew about that?” - the shaved one, who you learn is called Connie Springer, speaks, and you just wave it off.

“The whole world knows about it, it’s why you were undisturbed for so long. It’s only you citizens who find out last. Nobody, however, had tried to send out an ambassadorial party because of all the titans. In fact, this island has the most dense population of titans in the world, because they are purposefully dumped here by your neighbours. Titans as a weapon of war are known to every enemy Marley has made, but they do not threaten our way of life as they do you,” - at this, your voice takes a distinctive hard edge.

A silence falls over the classroom, before it once again erupts with questions. You answer them for hours at a time.

Commander Erwin, surprisingly, asks nothing - despite how his eyes dance with curiosity, it is unspoken and silent. He just stands and absorbs everything you have to say, as does Levi. Hange is the one who is alight with a burning need to know it all along with Armin Arlert and Eren Yaeger, make you speak so much that your voice goes noticeably hoarse and somebody sends to have water brought in just so you and your men can keep going.

It lasts for hours.

“We knew that Marley had been attacking you for some time, and when we found they lost a titan - through an informant. Well, we had to take a chance. You see, as small of a nation as you are, you have so much power that, with the right support, you don’t have to suffer at the hands of the Marley Empire,” - it is Sahtar who speaks now, giving you a moment of pause.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, is a saying that we have,” Sahtar says “-and in truth, we want an end to the titans as a weapon of war. However, most of the world wants an end to the titans, and that means Eldians. Not everyone has the capacity to be a titan, but almost every person on this island does. With the horror titans wreak, understand that most of the world…has grown to hate and despise those that can become titans,”.

“And yet the nation of Vazira sends a diplomatic ambassadorial expedition,” it’s Levi who finally speaks, voice dripping with an undercurrent of mistrust in his monotone.

He seems to be unperturbed by the idea of the unknown world hating them for something that they thought all of humanity may have the capacity to become, since their understanding of titans is so poor, but everyone else looks deeply troubled.

“Vazira is a complicated nation within the Allied Forces,” you bite out, feeling a mental exhaustion hit. “Whether we made it here or not would have been advantageous to King Raja, alright? If we failed, he’d have just sent more people until we reached you,” you run a finger through your hair with a sigh.

“The outside world isn’t a perfect utopia either, not even our nation,” Sahtar finishes - and it’s now that Erwin finally calls time and ends the meeting. Everybody is starving, and what was intended to be an hour or two had taken up the better part of the morning.

“If we have any reason to doubt the validity of our visitors, we will see if there’s any proof or understanding in the Yaeger basement that lines up with what we’ve been told today, but for now - that’s enough.” and despite all of the burning, deep, questions - Commander Erwin’s words are final.

* * *

The Anti-Titan artillery is studied at length, because the idea of the rest of the world being so very far ahead makes Hange elated with the possibilities. Titans now, whilst a persistent horror, no longer feel like the centre of the Survey Corps world. The other commanders and the premier are currently having a meeting with the Queen and her advisers prior to their arrival, so the meeting is pushed to the day after. That’s just fine by you - everything feels like it’s going far too fast and everybody, Eldians included, feel disoriented and unsettled.

The trustworthiness of you and your men seems to teeter on an expedition to Shiganshina, where it feels like perhaps a piece of the outside world, unable to be altered by the titan who wiped everybody’s memories, must be being kept. That’s fine by you, however - if a foreigner turned up in an isolated village in Vazira and began spouting off all manner of definitive and heavy truths about the world, it would be regarded with some suspicion - but, nobody really thought you were lying.

They just wanted it to be true - the good parts, at least. That technology is further ahead, there’s infinitely more people where you came from, and that there are sympathetic parties to the Eldians.

That, is something Commander Erwin wanted to understand more. He could understand the strategic advantage of being on the side of the country that has the most titans, and teaming up against a common enemy, but he wants to understand why they sent an ambassadorial mission out first, and not plans for all out war with Marley.

He invites you to his quarters, which isn’t too far from the officer room you’re given, to discuss this further. You don’t think twice about it, really - you just want to be away from Hange’s level of enthusiasm and his cool, collected and professional nature and general air of emotional unavailability made Commander Erwin a safe option.

Besides his bed and closets, there’s a large desk with which to work on formations and plans, and two chairs - one mounted with books, that he moves to the windowsill and invites you to take a seat opposite him, not too dissimilar to last night when he held your hand and shook it warmly, staring into the ambers of your eyes under the firelight.

“You did an admirable job for somebody who isn’t a scholar,” he opens with a comforting sort of line, while you rub your eyes and grimace when your stomach rumbles. Loudly. Everybody else has gone to get food, but Erwin sends to have some trays sent up so you can continue talking. It’s strange but, for someone as busy as him, he seems utterly unwilling to have you out of his sight for long, as though if he does - he might find that none of this was real. He wants so badly for the expedition to Shiganshina to prove your words trustworthy too, that he already feels like he believes all you have to say.

But Commander Erwin, for all of his hunger to know the truth of this world -- is not a gullible man. History is written by the victors, and he has no doubt that one nation’s reading of events is not necessarily an entire truth, but he still wants to hear it all.

“I did what I could,” you’re spent, and in truth you’re tired of talking - you just want to eat. You want more sleep. You want to spend time with your men, you want to explore Paradis, but you know that working for nation didn’t mean getting what you want.

“You’ve done more than we could have ever asked for,” he says emphatically, waving in the short girl who hurriedly brings in two trays of bread, hot soup, and water. There is something unmistakably awkward about breaking bread with a stranger, but the hospitality puts you at ease - and silences your stomach when you tear into your piece of bread with a ravenous hunger.

You’re too hungry to be embarrassed or girlish about your eating habits, and Commander Erwin doesn’t judge. Your entire party had been left to perish in the woods with less than half of your supplies after trekking from the other side of the ocean just to have most of your men picked off by titans.

Anyone else might have been embarrassed to behave like this in front of him, but you don’t care.

“I’ll have a talk with the other commanders when they arrive so you don’t have to explain quite so much,” Erwin says after a moment, only for you to look up from the bland soup to wave off his words, bread hanging from your mouth before you gulp it down with a visceral swallow.

“Fill them in by all means, but shit, I don’t mind the questions. If that’s the price of food and a warm bed away from titans, it’s a small price to pay, eh?” you swallow a gulp of the water - and find it tastes different here than it does to home, though it’s difficult to pinpoint why, exactly. “I honestly cannot fathom how you and your people deal with this shit as a persistent civilian threat without titan artillery. Vazira, at least, is a central state and even when titans did descend on our armies, civvie casualties were low.”

You tense visibly when the bloody, blurry flashes of the men who didn’t survive the journey come to mind, and without speaking, the Commander recognises the expression. It’s one he sees all too often.

“It’s impressive that you got here,” Erwin says, filling the silence. “I’m sorry for the loss you sustained trying to do it. Captain Levi is correct, though. A year is not long enough to be considered sufficiently trained to handle the varieties of titans in the wild. Especially without more developed melee weapons,” he doesn’t want to insult the efforts and preparations of the place you’re from - Levi had done that adequately, but you just grimace.

“Like I said, it would have been advantageous to my King if we survived or not,” you said, a little bit more bitterly than intended.

Now this, Erwin had been very curious about, but had the foresight not to broach something like that which had the capacity to be largely conjecture on your part, not while most of the people in that training room were taking what you were saying as fact.

“What makes you say that, Dame Legate?” he gives you a calculating look - one that makes you feel somewhat exposed under the harsh blue of his eyes.

“It’s complicated,” you’re swirling the spoon around your soup bowl - Erwin has barely touched his, and is instead sitting across from you with his hands steeped together in thought, looking you over with his clinical, unreadable gaze.

“Hm. How can I put this…? We were picked for potential Eldian sympathies, and I’m a huge pain in the army’s ass,” you said freely, not looking at Erwin’s expression as you said this - you found someone so inscrutable rather hard to look at, despite however handsome he is, it made you uncomfortable.

“-And Vazira isn’t a perfect place. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised to see how many women you have in your ranks. That itself isn’t very common or even accepted much with most Vazirans. My position of power and what I did to get there, especially at a young age, hasn’t sat well with some people,” you shrug, but you have a little self-satisfied smile that has entirely too many teeth in it to be kind. If Erwin was of a lesser constitution, he would have found it unsettling, but the kind of vacancy in your eyes as you spoke was reminiscent of Levi in some ways, but for some reason, it just didn’t quite sit the same with him.

“So if I happen to die whilst trying to get to you, it would have been a win for the people who didn’t want me in this position. Bully for them, the bastards. I lived,” you snort, putting the spoon down to force yourself to look up into Erwin’s eyes with the defiance you had held for those that resented your position. He didn’t know you terribly well, but there was a very primal and visceral, raw sense of truth that reminded him of the kinds of people who spoke the truth even when it hurt, even when it was ugly. He had a good sense for people, and though you’re something of a _miracle stranger,_ he finds himself wanting to believe you.

“So you did,” Erwin adds, punctuating the sentiment with a slight inclination of his head, before sipping some water. “How old are you, Dame Legate, if you do not mind my asking?” - you brought it up, after all, when you mentioned your young age, and in truth, Erwin isn’t good at guessing these things. He’s thirty-eight himself, a few years older than Levi, but you? He gets the sense you’re younger, but he isn’t sure by how much.

“It’s rude to ask a lady her age, Commander Erwin,” you said, still with your unsettling grin which told him that you weren’t offended in the least. “But I’ll call it Wallist Eldian ignorance and let it slide. I’m twenty five. I became a Dame Legate at twenty one - but - ah, God. I’m too sober to get into all that,” you said with a dry smile.

Commander Erwin remains his cool, unflappable self, but he doesn’t miss this moment. Yes he’s a pragmatist, emotionally unavailable, singularly focused at times - to the point his own humanity is up for debate, but his real human hunger to know the truth about the world, and how it worked, shone through.

“Then you shall have to enlighten me when we have some time to spare our sobriety,” he says - and though he doesn’t smile, you can see the hint of a spark in his eyes. It makes your breathing catch for a second.

Shit.

Thank God Sahtar isn’t here for this conversation, the observant little prick would have been all over that reaction.

“I’ll make time,” you reply, quickly - a little breathily, because you honestly and truly miss alcohol. You wondered if this little island had enough to drown out the weight of all your loss, and all of the burdens that seemed to get heavier every day you carried them.

Erwin - almost smiles at this.

“Commander Pixis will like you very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---------
> 
> A/N i had to cut this chapter short of actual things happening because the more we get into the Dame Legate's story and how they bond and get received by the Eldians, we will cross into some socially distressing content. I know this is AoT and anything goes when it comes to horrific shit but I'd rather just warn everybody first (without spoiling if I can) - so if you have more sensitive inclinations I wouldn't read further.
> 
> If you plan to stick with this and like my brain blather (god I love Erwin so much) and like where this is going please review, it means a lot


	4. Angels May Rise

_Chapter Four_

**Angels May Rise**

There was something ghoulish about the group of foreigners that had arrived inside the walls. They’re from a strange land that most of the natives of the Walls cannot quite seem to picture, even with all the pictures and the maps. They heard Ryka speaking in a low, gutteral dialect that they struggled to understand, nor did they understand the harsh sounding, biting words that would fold into his speech when he couldn’t place the word he needed in Eldian. Sahtar is a man who is entirely imposing without uttering a word, his eyes being a deep, bottomless, unreadable black. As all of your men moved and conversed amongst the soldiers here, people took notice of how they carried themselves, the patches of dead flesh around missing digits like fingers, toes and parts of their ears - their extremities, but not noticeably large enough to be taken by the teeth of a titan.

The men are as rough as you, many of them older than their leader - and not for the first time, Levi isn’t quite sure why they follow the Dame Legate at all. Sahtar seems like the kind of man who wouldn’t follow in lock step with somebody quite so young and bound to have less experience as a result. He isn’t much of a conversationalist, but he paid attention when Hange broached the subject with him.

“We’ve followed her to the gates of Hell and she’s the reason we’re here,” and the amount of testiness levied in his harsh tone had a natural way of silencing the room until the tension had become unbearable. Levi’s squad adapted very quickly to the fact that negative criticism or even questioning conversation about the legitimacy of their mission and leadership was a fast ticket to shattering the fragile trust. It isn’t much of a secret that Sahtar doesn’t like Levi Ackermann so much, but even with that, he doesn’t insult the visible skill he had in the field, and is grateful for his part in saving his leader - didn’t mean he liked the man remotely, though - and it showed.

Sahtar finds his disposition disrespectful, though ironically, it’s very similar to the Dame’s own. He does, at least, get on with Commander Erwin as much as an antisocial man like him possibly could. They are both serious men, though Sahtar could be considered more reserved, and less of an orator, he notes how Erwin actually makes an effort to remember his title of Vice Legate, and doesn’t try to equate how Vaziran army ranks match up to the Eldians and use terminology interchangeably. Commander Erwin speaks with a respectful air, and invites him quietly to walk the grounds. It was good for morale towards the Vazirans for him to be seen talking with them all, not just the Dame.

“My men, a lot of them are feeling better, but they do not do well without routine. Dwelling on the losses in the plains isn’t good for them,” Sahtar states, observing the Garrison and the Survey Corps from high atop the wall. “If you could lend us some grounds to train on, I think it would do them good. They’re trained soldiers, not trained diplomats - and the Dame worries about us getting sloppy,” -this made Erwin take pause. His impression was that of a braggadocious potty-mouth who was making great efforts to be laid back and accepting of the strange situation they all found themselves in. Perhaps the idea of her actually having any sort of strictness had him thinking contemplatively about just how much he hadn’t learned about these newcomers, even after all the information they’d been expositing about the world beyond, so little was about themselves.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, I’ll have someone speak with Shadis about getting you use of the cadet training areas,” Erwin adds “-men need order and structure. I think there might also be some interest to see how you train,” this part he’s more careful about - he wants to gauge how mistrustful the Vazirans might truly be, but surprisingly, Sahtar doesn’t seem bothered by this - and smiles benignly.

It is the first time anybody on the island has seen him show one.

“I believe that interest goes both ways. Your soldiers have one to one melee with titans down to an art form. Considering how much we lost trying to get here, I think it could be educational,” Sahtar mused - he wasn’t totally opposed to training with them, either. But for now, while they felt each other out, watching and sharing training grounds felt like a good start.

Commander Erwin cannot shake his thoughts, though. He has spent his every spare moment dwelling between what lay within the Yeager basement in Shiganshina, and all of the knowledge the Vazirans had piled him and his men with. He cannot help but think the sooner the expedition is launched, the sooner they have more puzzle pieces to work with, and assuming everything lines up - that they have new found allies in the Vazirans to potentially help put it together. In an ideal world, Erwin Smith would trust them implicitly just based on the fact he wants it all to be true - even the ugly parts of the reality beyond the walls, so he knows that he can trust you. But every story has a side, every nation has an angle, history is written largely by the victors, and for now, he’s forced to reserve judgement and stew.

He knows it, Sahtar knows it, and the Dame Legate knows it.

At that moment, the sound of gentle laughter pierced the air - and it made both men take pause. Sahtar is the first to find the source, his eyes trailing the length of the wall ahead before he spots the familiar figure of his leader with a single leg half-draped over the edge, one under her chin. It isn’t often he hears that sort of thing out of your mouth, and it is a far cry from the chilling, unpleasant laugh that you’d given in Erwin and Levi’s company. Following your line of sight - he can see that you’re laughing with a genuine sense of elation, occasionally clapping - at two members of the Survey Corps, who have taken to throwing each other in the air and spinning together with their ODM gear - showing off a few tricks. Unsurprisingly, it’s Sasha and Connie - who are ignoring the yelling of one of their squad members to stop wasting so much gas just playing around, but it gives Sahtar a ghost of smile. It stops him dead in his tracks from protectively trying to yank you back from the edge of the wall, and merely shake his head.

It is only a handful of moments on one hand he can count when you actually seem unburdened and joyful, and closer to your age. Neither male wants to particularly ruin it, and so they stop their walk there, and just talk for a bit longer before Erwin has to leave to attend to some business.

“You may also attend the meeting with myself and the other commanders, if you would like,” Erwin offers, and in truth, it’s because he thinks Sahtar might be better received. He looks the part, and he is the part - but the man merely shakes his head. He’s not opposed to the idea of being there as support, but he knows that he doesn’t have to be present. For all of the Dame Legate’s faults, he understands better than anyone the kind of position she’s in, and how much she has had to prove herself. Now, he doesn’t doubt that Commander Erwin Smith is nothing but respectful when dealing with you, in the same way that he is with Sahtar himself, but he knows exactly why he’s asked.

“It isn’t necessary, unless the Dame asks specifically,” his tone has the undercurrent of a sharp and less friendly edge that is all too noticeable with someone who has such naturally harsh tones. Erwin doesn’t visibly react to the change, but does fold his hands behind his back in quiet and calculating contemplation. He can tell that Sahtar has caught onto why he asked him in the first place, the two men are close in age - with Sahtar being a bit older, but he shakes his head in negative defiance.

“I understand that this might be difficult to understand for outsiders, but the Dame doesn’t have to prove herself to anybody, and she certainly doesn’t require me to hold her hand. I know she has a certain _way_ about her,” Sahtar chooses his words carefully, but he’s certain that the blond knows exactly what he’s referring to - her vernacular, her demeanour, her age and presentation. “-but she is more than capable of presenting the interests of the Vaziran army and peoples,” his lips take on a little downturn, as though he’s quietly judging Erwin for his words without outright berating him, because he can understand why he would ask.

He just doesn’t _know._

“-but she’s seen more blood in her short life than most men twice her age might have in their lifetime. I’m sure that her leadership might be difficult to accept from the outside looking in,” Sahtar says, a little begrudgingly “-but the Vaziran army doesn’t reward weakness. She is where she is, with good reason, and she has our hearts and lives for good reason. Know this, Commander Erwin, she can more than hold up in a room with you and your commanders,” he leaves Erwin with some food for thought, a simple statement that he finds burns him in his very core and begins to take over his entire mind and thoughts as the day wanes on.

“Her will is a steely one, and she’d later break, long before she’d ever bend,” - he takes one last look at your figure on the edge of the wall, which leans back so that you’re laid out with your arms and chest staring up at the sun, boots dangling from the edge still, but with more security than ever, and what was close to a peaceful smile.

He settles on a decision as he retreats to his officer chambers to prepare for the meeting later on.

_He shall have to ask Pixis for a drink. He needs to know more._

_He has to speak to her. Any reason will do._

* * *

There was an air of trepidation about letting the visitors loose on the town, and though it was an inevitability, the tension was easily diffused when access to the training grounds was granted.

Ryka has finally found his place with some of the Eldian soldiers afterwards too, joining them all in the mess hall afterwards.

“Ryka, are you teaching them how to swear in Vaziri?” Rahib let out a very put-upon sigh, shaking his head when Ryka gives him a faint little smile.

“Swears are the first thing anyone learns in a new language, think Ryka’s first word was bitch,” one of the men - Amir - pipes up with a wonky grin.

“I don’t think this is the cultural exchange they had in mind - Sahtar, please tell them!” Rahib groans, only for the Vice Legate to merely look up from his tankard of beer, and utterly ignoring their antics with a dismissive wave.

“You’re all hopeless,” Rahib bites out, irritably, flinching when one of the Eldian soldiers slaps him on the back in an over-friendly manner.

“Ah lighten up,” he shoves a drink under Rahib’s nose carelessly “-since you’ve arrived, this is the most time off we’ve had in a while, try and enjoy it!” - the tension seems to dissolve with the help of beer and idle chatter - from swears to foods.

“This watered down piss? Shit, you’re more hard up than we thought,” Rahib says, grimacing after a swig.

“Boys, _please_ ,” you cut through the chatter with a sharpness that has Rahib’s disdain die in this throat, and dissolve into something close to a pout. You’ve your own tankard and yes, it doesn’t quite taste like what’s brewed back home but you’re just grateful for the buzz.

“Rahib, I don’t know why you’re bitching about beer when you’ve got plenty of _whine_ in you,” - at this, the man just frowns a bit, and lets out second put-out sigh, but doesn’t fight it. The pun goes blissfully over Ryka’s head, but Amir lets out a loud, ungainly snort of amusement that has the Survey Corps slowly melt into laughter.

It’s only silenced when Armin comes rushing in, and summons you to the meeting room with a soft exhale - like he’d run all the way there.

“Miss? Oh! Ah, Dame Legate,” he quickly corrects himself with a flush “-The commanders are all ready for you, they told me to get you.”

He doesn’t even glance at Sahtar - which tells him that Erwin had heeded his words, and so he watches you turn to leave from the corner of his eye. The trust is implicit, and all of them can understand how strange it must be for the Eldians to stomach who they serve and how they present, but so far, the people from the 104th squad - well, they seemed to be the most welcoming as the present survivors tended to be made up of Levi’s hand picked special operations crew, so a lot of them were present for the rescue in the Forest of Giant Trees. There were plenty who gave them a wide berth, but none of the looks directed their way were particularly malicious. At worst, some were skittish, and freshly trained cadets might took one look at an imposing Sahtar or a gutteral, barely-speaking Ryka to mean they’re unfriendly or intimidating, and scatter like nervous deer, but those reactions are very few among the more hardened soldiers.

Armin Arlert is one of the more welcoming of sorts, and certainly less vocal about any suspicions or wariness. He even looks up at you with a gentle crane of his neck, and gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Thank you for indulging us yesterday, I know I had a lot of questions,” he said, with a certain reservedness about him that hadn’t been quite so noticeable when he was fired up with questions and a yearning for knowledge. His eyes are a far softer blue than Erwin’s - and he seems almost a little demure, all things considered - and not the kind of person you’d picture charging into battle.

Then again, once upon a time people said the same of you.

“ _Avizeh,_ soldier. Of course you had questions,” though it seems strange to call these young, young boys soldiers, after seeing how they handled themselves in the field, and with their ODM gear, you’d be hard pressed to call them anything but.

Armin feels the question on his tongue before you beat him to it, lips twitching into a delicate smile, not the unkind, unsettling, wide-mouthed grin that you were somewhat known for.

“Avizeh is Vaziri for ‘at ease’ - it’s a command you might hear me say a lot. I’m sure you’re probably not just interested in swear words,” - Armin smiles good naturedly at this, and tests the word on his tongue with a little nervous attempt at inflecting your accent. It isn’t quite the same, but the pronunciation is better than you had expected - as harsh and gutteral as the tongue is, especially from such a softly voiced boy, his attempt was admirable.

It also helped fill the silence on the way to what you learned, was colloquially dubbed the War Room, where a lot of pre-expedition talks and post-expedition decompression tended to occur.

“We will do our best to meet your questions with honesty, Arlert,” when you say his name, he feels his lips twist into a grin when he feels the letters of his name rolling on your tongue, and makes a mental note to talk to the soldier who was teaching the members of 104th how to swear, for more words. It seems to be the bridge over the barrier of differences and strangeness between the Eldians, and the Vazirans.

Armin wants to say more, he really does - but the door to the meeting room is already ahead of you both and he knows he shouldn’t keep such important men waiting. He looks at you and the forthcoming smile you offer him and all of a sudden he feels thousands of words wanting to creep up his gullet and spill forth. He wants to. He needs to. But he has so many things to say and to ask that there isn’t enough time and he couldn’t begin to break down where to start, even after so much was disclosed yesterday, Armin wants to talk day and night until every gap is filled, and he wants to see it all himself.

“I’m your guard,” Armin blurts out, instead. “Today, tonight, I mean. Outside your room, they’ve assigned me. Can we speak more then?” - his eyes, they shine with a sort of earnest hope that would be a crime to crush.

“Until sunrise, if you like,” that’s an exaggeration of course, but the overstated _yes_ fills Armin with a bubbling frantic excitement from foot to throat. As you begin to open the door, he draws himself into a firm stand, before curling his fist and slamming it over his heart in what you had learned was how the soldiers here salute.

You return it with the three finger temple salute of the Vaziran nation, before turning your back on Armin’s wide-eyed stare, and stretching smile.

_Until sunrise._

You carry the smile that you gave the small blond boy all the way into the room as you slide the door open and cast the hallway light into the meeting place. The War Room, as it had come to be called was very similar to the classroom but smaller, and more tight knit. There are tall wooden shelves that are lined with dusty tomes that fill the back of the closed space wall to wall, almost up the ceiling too. There’s two large windows which let the evening light stream in and support the candelabras which are lit up and dotted around the space.

For something which such an imposing name, when bathed in this light, it’s almost welcoming. The War Room is framed by a large circular, wooden table that is littered with old maps and metallic cups filled with either water or beer.

At that table, you see Commander Erwin and meet his eyes first, and then quickly divert attention to the bald man on his right, who sports a red sash with a gold trim, but your eyes flicker to the Garrison roses which tells you which regiment he spearheads. Finally, there’s the man you suppose is Premier Zachary, whose in full regalia with a few medals on a long, brown coat that’s otherwise quite sensible but you feel under dressed by comparison - in tight, pilfered men’s clothes that squad Levi had manage to scrounge up. At least you had your golden commander’s pin and chain, and you’d made some effort to clean up your appearance, brushing your hair for the first time in weeks - to much agony and knots - and tying it back up into the hard, large traditional bun with only two long bangs to frame your features.

“Dame Legate Senset, thank you for joining us,” Commander Erwin’s words diffuse some of the tension sitting in your chest, and you take that moment to stride in. Whilst you’ve made some effort to clean yourself up, you don’t bother to change your mannerisms - evident when you casually swipe a foot out to a leg of the other empty chair that had you sat ahead of the three men, making it slide away from the table with a rough scrape against the wood floor, before you drop yourself into the seat gracelessly.

You can feel their eyes on you, and though they’re too professional to be obvious about looking you up and down, the severity of their gaze is felt.

“Commanders,” you acknowledge, before glancing to the man adorned with medals. “-and Premier,” -before drawing yourself into a relaxed position, slipping a leg over the other and reclining back ever so slightly. You wouldn’t be rattled by the presence of these three quietly imposing gentlemen, and you would represent Vazira as best you could, but you certainly wouldn’t pretend to be somebody you weren’t, so you sat with your arms folded beneath your chest, with an inscrutable look on your face.

None of the two men had a visible reaction to how you different you sounded, though the _differentness_ certainly hangs in the air, it is not an uneasy silence - just a curious one. You’re the youngest person there, and they’re not particularly bothered by the fact you’re a woman - which makes a fresh change, but there seems to be a mounting pile of things that make you and your people different, and everyone is intent on gently bridging over it - as best anybody can.

It’s the leader of the Garrison who picks up his wits first, and introduces himself by name.

“Erwin told me you were young,” though his tone isn’t a malicious one, it’s bemused. “-but I didn’t quite expect this. Your people are full of surprises.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you give him a sort of wonky grin “-if it’s any consolation I didn’t expect you all to be so fuckin’ old, but I suppose that speaks to your resilience as army men. Any of them that can live past their thirties are considered above reproach in skill. I’d assume a place so regularly besieged by titans is similar,” you mused, and this - rather than garner insult, gets a short, unexpected chuckle from the bald man.

“Erwin, why aren’t most of our meetings like this? I could stand to be complimented more,” there is a slight mirth in his tone, which seems to shatter the air of seriousness that seemed to weigh down the War Room and become amplified by how indomitable Premier Zachary and Commander Erwin appear.

“Lets get pleasantries done, shall we? I’m Premier Dhalis Zachary, and that,” he gestures to the bald man “-is Commander Pixis, of the Garrison regiment, Commander Erwin - you’ve already met.” This man is more down to business, and doesn’t react much to any of the lightness that had come from the attempt to diffuse some of the tension.

“Well, Commander Erwin kindly introduced me already, I’m Dame Legate Senset. I suppose to _you_ that would be Doyenne Commander of the Vaziran People’s Army,” you frowned, translating things that were written in the traditional, second language of the country didn’t always move over smoothly “- if I’m translating that right anyway. A lot of those words weren’t quite supposed to match exactly. Call me whatever the hell you want, though. You welcomed me and my people into your walls, our peace mission was very quickly turning into a survival one. You have my gratitude.”

This apparently seemed to ease Premier Zachary, at least a little bit. You talked at length about the Anti-Titan gun and what it would take to re-arm the device, but that you’d be more than happy to offer whatever knowledge you had, which, for the technical stuff - wasn’t a lot - but your next words brought a lot of interest.

“You may have noticed some bird cages amongst one of the few things we recovered. Not only are they trained to signal us when there’s titan movement, but they’re homing birds we use to deliver messages over long distance. Only one survived after that abnormal took out one of our supply wagons, but one’s enough. We can get a dialogue going with our armoury and engineering corps back on the mainland,” you said shortly. “I expect they’ll be so shocked we actually made it, they’ll bend to pretty much anything,” - you hope.

“What do your people want in return?” this is what Premier Zachary was the most pressed out, to be honest. After having the sanctity of the Walls breached so much by what they were learning was enemies they didn’t even know they had, he is understandably quite reserved about the contributions that strangers welcomed into the Walls could give.

“We want new allies. The Allied Forces are on their back legs now. By year’s end we will crumble and Marley will assault us again. With more titans, and more weapons. We can hold them off, but barely. If the surrounding nations buckle - which - King Raja suspects they will - then we will become overrun, and out of all of the Middle-Eastern Allied Forces, only Vazira will remain independent, because we would sooner die than bend the knee,” you said, with no small amount of pride, though there is a bitterness there that all three could pick up on - it’s simple, now. Secure this ally, or sign the death warrant of many, many peoples, a forced subjugation.

“We would share our advancements with you, you would have the full range of our weapons, our men and our unwavering support. In return, what will happen, is once we secure contact back home, they would want to open a dialogue with your queen. And do not mistake me,” you say, finger delicately tracing over the rim of your cup of water, levelling Premier Zachary with your amber stare, deep into his own sunken, tired eyes.

“For all of Vazira’s faults, they realise from our brief time in the Allied Forces that our nation is stronger together, not standing alone, but as it’s looking right now - being alone will be forced upon us, and we will suffer not just in casualties, but long term. We want to agree to a charter with you, see if we might be able to combine our forces and open up trade, even travel - once we spread out our anti-titan artillery,” - this actually does garner a wide-eyed look, and it’s Pixis who speaks.

“Travel? Trade? It was hard enough for you to get here, you think this is possible?” Commander Pixis doesn’t shoot down the idea, but he sounds like he’s almost too wary to even cautiously hope for that in the future.

You feel yourself smirk.

“The Ultra Long-Range Bombardment Rifle we brought is one of many anti-titan artillery weapons, it’s merely the most light and easiest to re-aim, but even that can shoot a titan at 45000 metre distance, if aimed squarely in the neck, it can kill them in one shot. If the titan can harden its skin, it can release repeat fire to slow it down. Admittedly, in those cases, the long distance grenade launchers are fuckin’ fantastic, get them in a vulnerable spot and you can _blow up_ a titan from the inside because they cannot harden their insides and fight - it would render them still.”

A small silence falls over the table, and it’s Erwin who lets out a short exhale that’s almost barely noticeable, all men are calm, but each of them has something brewing behind their eyes - even the dead-eyed Premier Zachary.

“You’re saying we could clear the surrounding area of titans within our lifetime, enough that we could establish a trade and travel route?” - he can feel that urge spidering through him again, that burning desire that had taken over his thoughts ever since he had spoken one to one with Sahtar. He wanted everything to come true, he wants it to happen - but it all hinges on politics, a charter, _the queen -_ and this mysterious King Raja.

With Historia Reiss at the helm, this is more likely than ever to go well, but he doesn’t dare fall into an unrealistic dream - it’s all too easy to do that. He needs to see the gun fire, first, and slay a titan - and he needs to see that correspondence with Vazira manifest before he dare allows himself to hope.

“Mhm. Obviously this depends on how our charter works out and politicians with far more power than us mere mortals, but I think your options aren’t…profound. Not everywhere is as forward or desperate as us to try and make contact. But you’ll at least give us a shot, if you want to truly live and not just survive” you said, wryly. “-and I will refrain from sending out a message home until you’ve had your planned expedition to - where was it? Shig…something - until you are certain of where you stand with us, if this will help with the trust factor.”

Well - even for your age, you’re pretty difficult to argue with, Erwin had to give you that - before he interjects.

“Shiganshina,” Erwin supplies, ignoring whatever reaction the men had to the easy disclosure of their expeditionary plans. “Dame Legate Senset has been agreeable to the measures taken in guarding herself and her men until we can ascertain the validity of her words by seeing if what’s in the Yaeger basement aligns with what she and her men have been telling us. However,” he takes pause, his head tilted back ever so slightly, in such a way that it catches his glacial blue eyes in the light of the candelabra and you feel your muscles tense imperceptibility. 

“If I may speak presumptuously, if they were on the side of an enemy, there is still no logic in presenting us with a powerful anti-titan weapon, which Levi squad reports they heard successfully deploy shellfire until they ran low, deep in the Giant Forest - and they did see smoking titans with large bullet holes in the nape on their way to assist. I would take this to be the olive branch of peace it is meant to be,”

Erwin still wants to see it for himself though- he needs to see it to truly believe it in his chest. The words of Sahtar had never left him throughout that entire meeting. The amount of blood you’ve managed to see in your short life, in a place where titans aren’t the predominant concern - the things you’ve done - that you had vaguely alluded to, every unanswered question just raised more questions, though so many of them aren’t relevant to the anti-titan artillery that the man just keeps them deep inside of him. The talks last for four hours before Pixis begins pouring whiskey into the cups and you knock it back like it’s water, matching the old man in his vigour.

“This one - this one I like,” Pixis said, after a moment. “You represent a future. One I thought I’d be too old to see,” he adds.

Premier Zachary has to retire earlier, he has a lot of letters to the interior to write about what was discussed.

“You’re only as old as you feel,” you shrug, grateful for the hot burn of the whiskey and something that doesn’t taste heavily watered down and awful like what is served in the Mess Hall.

“Ohoh! This is why they sent you for diplomacy. Ha! Tell that to my joints,” Commander Pixis says, before slowly rising up himself with the hint of a smile buried under his moustache. “Us old men need to go to bed. Don’t let us keep you any longer,”.

“Goodnight, Commander Pixis,” you said, watching him get ready to retreat - he notes that Erwin makes no move to, and wishes him a good rest as well, before leaving the War Room after a sparing glance.

He noticed something - but - he wasn’t quite sure what it was, but there is something about the severity hiding in your eyes and he’s certain that the other two men see it too. It’s smothered carefully under a veneer of calm, but all three men were incredibly astute. There was a certain validity to your words, and they could tell when you meant what you were saying, but there was something absolutely rehearsed about how you entertained their company.

It could be put down to the simple fact you knew how many people thought you did not belong on that table, representing Vazira. The fact you are no diplomat or politician. How out of all three pale faced, older men, you’re different on every level, and yet were expected to connect with them on behalf of your King.

A King had basically sent you to die.

Coming to Paradis was a death sentence, and while Vazira wanted this alliance in earnest, if you’d died en-route like the others, there weren’t many in the King’s court who would be shedding tears.

And now, there was just you, and him.

He observes you in the manner that he has been doing for most of the meeting, though now it is just a little more obvious as he does not have Pixis or Zachary to divert his attentions. He watches the way you empty your cup and don’t falter or visibly react to the harsh burn of the whiskey that he’s able to smell easily from across the table. He considers, for a moment, asking you out for a short walk - as he had with Sahtar, until he finally realises he can hear the sound of gentle rain hitting the large windows behind him, which rather makes the idea less appealing. Still, however, Erwin craves deeply to satisfy his curiosity - and it is selfish, he knows.

The thing about Erwin Smith is that he’s a man who operates with greed. It isn’t a motive many would suspect, he’s a man whose considered an asset to humanity, pragmatic to a fault, a demon - to those who think his pragmatism has led to senseless destruction. Things that should keep him awake at night - indeed, his ability to compartmentalise has had him be likened to the kind of dark hearted man who would do what is necessary for humanity to survive - and so people wouldn’t think his motives are greed driven.

And of course, they aren’t on the surface - but ever since he was a child, Erwin Smith wanted nothing more than the truth. It was something he was willing to send hundreds of men to their death for, something he burned to see - it was the thing that kept a fire in his belly and gave him a reason to wrench his eyes open every morning, even after an expedition that suffered terrible losses. In truth, he knows he sees you more as a representation of all the things he’s been seeking and wanting, and ever since you got here, all anybody has done is made you talk, talk and talk - yet it still doesn’t scratch the surface.

In truth, Erwin knows he will never slake his desires until he sees this great world, but to have a walking, talking, beautiful piece of it in front of him makes it so real. If he reaches out - he knows he can touch you, and know it’s not a wonderful dream he’s having before a titan crushes him in its great jaws. It’s selfish to want more out of you when you’re so exhausted, when you lost so much to get here - when you should be laughing and smiling, the way you had on the edge of the wall.

There are so many things he wants to say and do, but instead, he stares evenly - before clearing his throat a little bit.

“Would you care for a nightcap? I understand we’ve done nothing but have you talk for hours at a time,” his tone is deceptively gentle, but he can see how mournfully you stare at your empty cup of whiskey. You glance up at the commander when he says this, and feel your tired smile creeping back onto your features.

“I’d like that,” you said, before an exhausted sigh escapes from your lips. If Erwin notices, he doesn’t comment on it - and merely walks at a slower stride so that you easily keep up. The walk itself is silent, but not awkward, the pair of you seem to be fine in each other’s company, maybe because it was Erwin’s men who welcomed you - but you were glad he had helpfully stuck his neck out and commented on the efficacy of the gun - it would at least go some way to making you seem more trustworthy and valid.

Unsurprisingly, he leads you to his quarters, where you first met him upon being led into the safety of the Walls, only, without Levi or Hange present, and the fact that it’s now becoming dark out, it suddenly feels a lot more intimate than perhaps it should. Considering that Erwin treats his bedroom like a secondary office, it isn’t too odd - and his room is in the officer barracks where yours is, so he even gives Armin an acknowledging nod before opening the door to let you in.

Armin stares for a moment, before turning back to his post outside your room - whatever he was thinking, you had no idea, but he didn’t seem too bothered, so this was probably fine.

Erwin leads you to the small work table that he’d first been sat across from you at when you had arrived, and pulls a small black bottle reserve from the drawer within it. Pixis had, in this instance, come through for him - though not without a curious eyebrow raise. Erwin can drink, and he does on occasion, but he’s not one to specifically ask for some or refill often when he runs out.

He had the foresight to grab the cups from the War Room too, and starts by pouring you out a full cup, before beginning his own, and again, sits across from you, this time, however, he’s half turned to the side, and leaning his arm on the desk in an air of less formality than usual.

There’s things he wants to know about the world, and by extension, you. He wants to know what kind of place makes a twenty one year old a commander. He wants to know what you did to get there - he wants to know all about the Vaziran army. He wants it all, but, he restrains himself.

Erwin is a man of planning and pacing, and he can tell just from your demeanour that you’re sick of talking.

His fingers ghost over yours after you take the cup from him - you don’t notice it at all really, but Erwin gives you a small little smile, the blues of his eyes seeming to relax under the dim oil lamps in his room.

It’s enough. _You’re real. You’re really real and this is happening._

“Commander Erwin?” your voice taking on a gentle hoarseness, this particular drink burning more harshly on the way down your tongue and throat. It raises goosebumps along your arms that are hidden by the taut white shirt.

“Mhm?” he murmurs, while the rim of his cup is at his lips - causing a slight, tinny metallic tinge to his reply.

“When all this talk is finally enough, I would like it if me and my men could see the land we were dying for,” - ah, because you wouldn’t be out of the custody of the military any time soon, it seemed. Erwin, selfishly, didn’t consider this - he’d been so taken with everything on the outside, he didn’t put so much stock into what _your people_ thought of this kingdom.

“More than likely, after the Queen’s advisory has held a meeting with the Premier, you will be invited to the Interior, and if not with your men, I will have something arranged. With all you’ve done, I’m sure we can do that,” he says, softly - softer than he’s spoken to anybody in quite some time. “-You have been cooperative, and it is noticed.”

“When we can make contact with Vazira, I’d be happy to draft my letters with whoever would like to be present. We don’t have anything to hide,” you sigh, swallowing the last bit of bitter whiskey - contemplating asking for half a top-up to go to bed tipsy, at least.

“And that was very well received. You have done more than we have the right to ask,” Erwin states flatly, which helps dampen his urge to begin digging into your world any more than he already has, because you’d given so much already.

_Shit, maybe the demon himself actually feels a little bad._

_Just a bit, anyway._

“Y’luh,” you grumble in Vaziri before groaning a little, stretching and hearing your bones click - the sound of the rain hitting the windows was louder, and it was making you even more tired to be honest. “Sorry. Tired. I’m tired. I could fall asleep in this chair if I’m not careful,”.

“You can if you like, your room is just down the hall,” says Erwin, rather too easily “-just relax,” he’s just pleased you’re this comfortable in his company.

“-Mm, I will if you give me a half-shot top up, last one, I promise. I just need to warm up. S’fuckin’ cold in these parts,” - as Erwin pours after you say this, you add “-the sun shines hotter back home.”

Just the idea of that made Erwin want to ride out and see it, and feel that scorching sun hit his face.

He hadn’t felt like this since he’d been a child.

“You’re cold here?” he asks shortly, glancing at his wardrobe for a moment - the linens and sheets were thin, even in officer beds, but the climate was usually the last thing to bother anybody here, but he supposes for a foreigner, it’s that much more noticeable.

“I hate to bitch after being stuck in the titan wastelands, but it is quite…drafty,” you admit with a faint flush across your cheeks from the whiskey. “It used to get cool at night in Vazira but not cold. No winds.”

Erwin rises up, setting his empty cup down as you say this. You let out a noise of confusion, but he ignores it, swinging his closet door open for a moment and talking with his back turned to you.

“I suppose it’s even harder with only half of your things, I know the lion’s share of what was recovered from you was largely your men’s gear. I suppose this might do.” He finds a dark, beige woollen jumper and walks over to you with a kind smile that you didn’t really expect.

“This is probably jarring enough if you’re from a desert climate,” _like in the books he’d seen as a child…._

“Will this suffice?” he hands you the jumper, and you - well, you just blink slowly. It doesn’t register to you that this is the most human someone like Erwin Smith gets, because he keeps most people at an emotional arm’s length. To you - it’s just a man giving you a jumper, but the kindness goes a long way, because you know he could easily just force a cadet to give you whatever they can spare and doesn’t have to give you something of _his._

“Uh - ah, yeah, yes, yes it does. Thanks,” you finish the drink, and tuck the jumper under your arm. You’d put it on when you got to your room - and put on the loose undershirt Kirtstein had found you because it was silken, and then you’d layer this on top.

“Alright. Come on then, lets get you back to your room,” he finishes definitively, walking over to your chair and extending a hand down to you, with the faintest flash of a quicksilver grin which has you staring up at him gormlessly for just a moment, wondering why he was being so gentlemanly.

_The personal questions can wait -_ he needs you to want to tell him, and forcing it out of you on your second _long_ day here wouldn’t be the way.

He’s waited years for a breakthrough like this, he can wait another day.

You rise up easily but take his hand out of politeness - you’re a little tipsy but not enough to effect how you walk or anything, but you let Erwin walk you to the door, and then signal Armin to take you to your bed.

“Goodnight, Dame Legate.” - It’s at this, you realise your hand is still lazily tucked into his and pull it out to give him a little salute from your temple - the way people back home do.

“ _Gurenda nita_ , Erwin.”


	5. Heaven Might Fall

_Chapter Five_

**Heaven Might Fall**

The training grounds are usually reserved for cadets, and for intermittent brush up training for the graduates and those who need a specialised space to do field exercises. Many of them are also done just beyond the walls, but in this instance - the training grounds are yielded by Shadis on the request of the commander.

For the Vazirans, it’s a semblance of normalcy, to be able to run long distances and spar with their blades. Ryka is one of the most enthusiastic when it comes to this, and summarily sends Amir collapsing gracelessly onto his ass on the ground with a sweeping motion of a dulled practice blade. He finds them relatively light and not quite as devastating on impact, but then again, they weren’t made to spar against other blades - these were meant specifically for titan flesh, or in this case - dummy titan cardboard.

In the bright light of the new day, the amber eyed Vaziri look so much more fierce when they’re sparring. Ryka moves like a freshly stoked fire spreading with incredible speed and sinking Sahtar deeper into their mutual locked biceps. They push against each other and barely move the other, like an unstoppable force meeting and unmovable object, it’s only when Sahtar forcibly sends his body to the floor, dragging Ryka to the ground with him, and rolls so that his hefty shoulder is pushed into his chest that breaks the deadlock.

Ryka lets out a hard, pained wheeze, eyes watering before Amir quickly jumps in, timing everybody out. In the distance, Ashwari and Rahib are sparring with the blunt blades and are getting a small circle of attention from the cadets who hadn’t really done sword to sword training.

Keith Shadis stands with his arms folded neatly behind him, standing at an impressive 6”4 - he’s easily the tallest person here besides Sahtar. He has a quietly severe expression, face set into a hard scowl that doesn’t move even when the wind does. He doesn’t react when you stand beside him, only you’re in your trademark lazy gait, back foot leaned on, front leg bent, arms folded under your chest and hair tied up far more lazily than the day prior.

He occasionally wonders if, or when, you might break up some of the sparring. Keith Shadis is not a soft man, but when too much blood is in the breeze, he knows when to call time on training. Bleeding should be at the minimum for training, but you don’t even react. He’d seen you lead an impressive run and warm up, and then merely laze at his side while the men trained.

He gets his answer when Ryka is wheezing for precious air, eyes visibly watering - whilst you prepare to count him out, holding up a hand with five fingers slowly reducing digit by digit to time how long he’s allowed to lay on his back like a stranded turtle.

“Ryka! He just hit you in the fucking chest, _what are you going to do about it?_!” - your lips curled into a snarl. You clench your fist as you hit finger three, and pump it once firmly into the air, which sends any thoughts of you breaking up the fight spiralling quickly into the gutter.

It does, however, seem to light something deeply within the men - and your egging seems to have brought some of the cadets out of their shell, who begin yelling too - betting meagre army rations on either of them.

_“Hit him harder!”_ it comes up as a deep, gutteral shriek with a scratchiness that sounded like his throat was hoarse and sandpapered. Ryka is quick to send a knee shooting up into Sahtar’s stomach with such force that Shadis is surprised he doesn’t hear a crunch as the smaller male breaks free, and the pair stand to attention, both panting and in their different fighting stances, fists wrapped in battered bandages to soften the damage to their knuckles.

They’re beating seven bells out of each other, that much is obvious - but before Shadis can even consider questioning how you practice, an ear piercing whistle leaves your lips as you stick your fingers up and force them to pause their sparring.

“Alright, go hit the showers, I can smell your balls from here you sweaty bastards,” - Shadis doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash at your language, but turns to you with an inscrutable expression. He’d only really seen you do warm ups, stretches, and some general muscle training, before opting to sit back and direct the men into some rotational order of swordplay, physical sparring, running, press ups and short, frantic breaks.

“You’re not participating?” he can’t seem to turn off how he addresses his cadets though, and there’s a thread of accusatory inflection in his tone, though in truth, he isn’t overly bothered by it - just mutely curious about how somebody half his age was in a position that high. It’s a common thought, he knows, but so far, everybody has opted to observe, and see if it the evidence will explain itself.

So far, not so.

“Me? No. Getting a beat down from me is a privilege,” you bite out, detecting his tone but not giving the man the decency of a glance. Something about his disposition rubbed you wrongly - maybe it was the fact he exuded a sense of judgement, because he took one look at you and didn’t understand how you came to command these incredible behemoths of fighting prowess.

“Excuse me."

You do not justify yourself further, and leave the man to his thoughts. To most, you seem to swim between easy casualness, and a uncouth veneer of brittleness, and it seemed to keep most of the cadets from speaking with you when they see how you motivate your men.

No bother. _They’re just children anyway._

Keith Shadis is left a bit bemused, and vaguely intrigued when you go over to your men, and wrap your arms around their necks, swinging between Ryka and Sahtar with an easy smile. You’re far more physical than most people in a commanding role, and yet, it just seems to make them value you, all the more. He wonders, briefly, if emotionally and physically distancing himself from the so many who died in his brief tenure might have been part of his mistake. Maybe. Because he thinks he deserves to be haunted by them far more than he already is.

* * *

Trying to get a feel for you as a commander is something of a challenge, because trying to decipher everything from the outside is so much harder when you don’t have the pieces. The Eldians don’t understand their language, or their mannerisms sometimes. They’re a culture that embraces one another physically, and it isn’t unusual to see them quite personable with one another. The age disparity seems to fall to the side every time you call them _boys,_ and they do not seem to react negatively. In between the playful, catty, biting banter - one hand, everyone can be unrelentingly harsh to one another - and on the other, surprisingly warm.

It’s not a commanding style that Levi has ever really seen, then again, he’d never seen someone younger than him command so many men. Often you would call them assholes in one breath, and your brothers in the next - but you were always met with full cooperation either way.

You and Levi, exchange very few words - but, and it is quickly noticed by the inner circle of those who have parts of Erwin's schedule - the Survey Corps commander keeps finding his feet leading him to somewhere in your vicinity, maybe not always interacting - but often watching. If Levi noticed, he didn’t bring it up, not at first, anyway. In the distance, he can be seen addressing the last batch of graduates who had just finished a field exercise prior to lending the space back to the cadets and the visitors, and Levi doesn't think for a second that it was coincidence.

He decides to follow you himself, at some point - and try to see what the fuss is about. So, when the opportunity strikes - he takes it. Levi isn't one to sign up for being an errand boy, so it surprises Hange when he offers to get you, but he does it, and finds you with a frightening amount of quickness.

“We’re establishing contact with the interior right now, so for the moment being we’re under the charge of the Survey Corps,” you explained, standing in the entryway of the spare cadet barracks that had been hastily repurposed to house your men. Your shadow cast into the room as they all prepared for bed that night. Each of the men spared you a glance, some of them already in their beds, others sat up on the edge, staring at you as you addressed them.

“Considering most of what we can currently offer to validate the support our nation can offer is based on long-range titan combat, these are the people we need to be proving our military worth to,” your eyes flickered briefly to Ashwari, who doesn’t meet your gaze, and you clear your throat a bit to address the elephant in the room.

“Most of us got picked off just trying to get here, that already looks bad,” - blunt to a fault, that is a fair assessment, though it doesn’t include just how many of you managed to live, and the fact any of the Vazirans managed to engage in any (even purely supportive) combat one to one melee with titans and live, as respectable in itself. There is a pragmatic coolness in your tone that does not sit well with some of them, but it’s Ashwari who speaks up. They were used to it, to an extent, but it’s been a long time since they had to face titans directly - and many of them had hoped not to repeat the tragedies that befell last time. In fact, your men were some of few who had the displeasure of having to engage in non-artillery combat with them at all which was one of the many reasons you were selected for this mission in the first place.

“You haven’t even mentioned them since we got here, and all of them died so far from home, on foreign soil, and for what? We haven’t even been told if we can go into the cities and see what they all died for in the first place,” Ashwari bites out “- _Mezahfeh, -_ being caged up with a bunch of baby soldiers. Nobody telling us anything. It’s pissing me off.”

This seems to cause a ripple of murmured agreement, save for Sahtar who looks like he’s attempting to glare a hole straight through Ashwari’s soul. The air of dissent washes over you in a wave and it continues for a few moments before you quickly make moves to regain control of the situation.

“Nobody is telling you anything because nobody knows what’s going on, you impudent little shit,” you respond waspishly, but there’s an absence of real malice in your tone. “Think about it for a second, do you think General Patraius, for one second, thought we would actually make it here in one piece? _Do you?_ ” a pressed note of impatience wheedling in as you emphasised your words. You repeat them briefly in Vaziri, nailing home your point as an uncomfortable terseness settled in the barracks after you spoke.

You could almost feel the temperature in the room drop.

“Be honest here boys, this is exactly like the Blackwastes, don’t think for a fucking second it isn’t. It was a suicide mission we were not intended to survive, but we did. If they wanted us to live, they would have sent us out with more artillery when I asked for it, they’d have given us more time when I _pleaded_ for it. It did not happen. These are what those from _our nation_ did to us, and I _love_ Vazira, but I do _not_ love those in control of it,” you stride forward, the dim oil lamps of the barracks hitting your amber eyes brightly, like flickering fire in the darkness as your increasingly acidic tones hit all of them with a disturbingly frank amount of transparency that most would not expect of leadership.

“Our King expects us to make allies of these men, these so-called _devils,_ and if we were to die trying, there’s plenty in his court, General Patraius included, who would sleep like babies after the fact. But we are here. We are alive. We may love our nation but _home_ is where the people who _give a shit if we live or die_ are, and I hate to break it to you my brothers, but _those people are in this room,”_ you sucked in a sharp inhale of air through your teeth, shaking your head with some exasperation after. 

Sometimes, men just need women to lie to them sweetly.

“Our men at least, died with their brothers in arms - but don’t get me wrong, dying from titan teeth is a shitty way to go. If I had my way we’d die with a beer in our hands and a bedwarmer by our sides - because if nothing else, every soldier deserves a _good_ death, especially you boys, but right now? I’m just thankful that we are together. So to me? You _are_ home, and our brothers died fighting for their family to get here here in one piece - not for the sake of Eldians whom they never met,” - at this, Ashwari looked at you, _really_ looked at you, and then very slowly nods, before looking away and sighing.

“Now….if that is all, _avizeh,_ my brothers. I will continue to keep you informed,” and as you turn - you see an impassive looking, short figure, whose leaned up against the back wall outside the barracks with a nonplussed expression. His eyes, however, seem to swim with idle curiosity.

Levi Ackermann silently begins walking, he doesn’t need to tell you to come - because you fall naturally into step with him, frowning a bit. You’re not particularly bothered that Levi heard all of that, but you wondered why he was looking for you at all.

“Captain Levi, did you need something?” you’re short, and directly to the point - which he appreciates, if nothing else.

Levi doesn’t respond. Not immediately, anyway.

“Hange wants to meet with you - she has questions about the big ass gun,”

It seems that all you ever seem to do since you got here, was talk, and have meetings.

“What was that all about?” Levi, not one for small talk, gets straight to the point.

“I try to keep my men informed of what’s happening,” you give him a sideways glance “-You remember that you’re considered devils to the greater world, yes? They need to know dying to get here was worth it,” when the pair of you are safely far out of ear shot of the barracks, you give him another look.

“And was it?” Levi asks, simply. If only because he could see how those men relied upon you with far more reverence than just a commander, how you called them your brothers, and equated the ragtag battalion to a facsimile for family, he has to know if you really thought this was all worth the trouble if people so important to you died to get here.

In truth, Levi wants to gauge the kind of person that you are, because he assumes you’re younger than him, and yet command so much more power from pure rank that he wonders if Vazira rewards the right kind of people.

“Well. That remains to be seen,” you lick your lower lip, and there is a sudden frankness that would be chilling to most others who weren’t Levi.

“.…Some men just need women to lie to them sweetly. It’s what it took to get them here, but they followed me nonetheless. I think, as a result, I owe them transparency at least,” - you feel Levi’s gaze become more pensive, even though his expression gives away nothing.

He hopes you’re not doing the same to them, but he trusts Erwin’s judge of character. Generally, anyway.

“You’re being transparent with Commander Erwin?” he asks bluntly - which makes you blink a bit, not really expecting that.

“With everybody,” you insist, frowning a bit.

Levi makes a dismissive noise, and then leaves you at Hange’s door.

* * *

An uncomfortable heat, like being pressed by two scorching, volcanic flat rocks pressed you from either side. The room felt so very small, and you could feel yourself slipping into a dream, your body jolting a little bit at the sensation of your thinking mind leaving your body, your lips moving more slowly as your quiet mumbles became slurring whispers.

“ _Solaire, Vadhi, Jassi ---”_

Soft mantras of names left your throat as you tried to sleep, but as you squeezed your eyes shut, all you can see are rows, and rows of impossibly large teeth, crunching and biting down on fleshy, sinewy bits of men. Everywhere you look, all you can see is teeth, or snow capping the previously scorching ground beneath you as you twisted around in your blankets, lodged in a deeply uncomfortable dream and state of semi-sleep.

One consistent report from all people assigned at night is that they can hear tossing and turning, sometimes light whispers, but nothing nefarious. Armin spoke to you for a bit - but doesn’t keep you until sunrise, he takes one look and instantly knows better - which, in a sense, makes him better than some. Jean, Armin and Sasha had all the heard the noises - though they weren’t too severe, they did have something in common.

Names. Softly uttered into the night like an ongoing mantra until the whispers become slurs and your voice fades into silence, broken only by the sound of the sheets moving when you toss and turn throughout the night.

_Solaire, Vadhi, Jassi, Roloqan, Salamet, Akib, Ghazaan, Muzra, Behezrat, Dahsan, Vuqiri, Asher, Lhazar, Surmit - -_

The list seems like it never ends, but it always has the same order. On this night, it’s Sasha who stands awkwardly before the commander dismisses her, after both of them lean into the door. He merely nods at her once, and directs her down the corridor in what she recognises as a silent dismissal. She salutes over her chest, before skittering down out of sight towards her own barracks.

He doesn’t knock the door right away though, he leans in a bit, and keeps listening - and the list only gets longer. It took a while for them to figure out it was names, but it’s a fact that’s quite obvious when he ponders them against the names of the other Vazirans he’s met. And then he knocks - loudly, three times.

When he gets no answer, he does it again, and says - clearly - that he’s coming in. He contemplated getting one of the Vazirans to come up to you, but in truth, would you want that? Would that be better, or worse, than your potential ally seeing you in a moment of vulnerability? In the end, he decides to be selfish - which seems to be a trend as of late, and see if he can work you while you’re weak - he knows you’re more amenable when you’re tired.

It’s a shitty way to think, but Erwin’s not above it. He enters the room and stands in the door, and calls out a few times before you finally stir awake.

“I was just falling back asleep,” there is a hint of petulance to your slurring tone, but the moment the blond enters the room, he’s hit with the wave of deep, constrictive sweat and heat. He doesn’t react, though - he’s accustomed to that and much worse. He’d served in sweaty, bloody, stinking soldier barracks for a long time, and he hasn’t forgotten that as a commanding officer.

He averts his gaze out of politeness when you kick the thin linen from your body to expose your long, dark legs that seemed like they stretched on forever if he let his eyes rake up along your calves. What you don’t do, however, is rush to cover yourself, and instead swing your feet to hit the floor with a small, soft sound.

“Mn. Not that sleep is doing me much good. It doesn’t matter how much I get, I’m still tired,” you rub your eyes and notice through your bleariness that the commander politely looks to the wall, and shake your head in light exasperation.

"It's fine, I'm sure you've seen worse," you mumble casually, not particularly minding that your immodesty left him at a momentary loss.

_Worse._ Erwin toys with that word in his mind, but doesn’t think it quite lines up, but now his eyes roam more freely, at least, in this stolen moment before you clear your vision of sleep. Your hair is splayed out messily and courses down your back with more chaos than usual, a few dark strands stuck to your forehead as your bones click with each stretch. He supposes you’re wearing something scrounged up from one of the taller members of Levi squad - probably Kirstein, which is unbuttoned and hidden by the low-necked beige jumper he’d passed to you not so long ago. Only, it’s holding so much of you in that some of the long, white silken undershirt that would usually hang low past your rear to your thighs was bunched up inside of it and riding so far up your legs that just the way you moved might send his eyes somewhere they shouldn’t.

“-Anyway, can I help you? This is becoming a bad habit, Commander,” you yawn “-us meeting like this,” you stretch a little bit, feeling his eyes move down your ankles. On instinct it makes you want to put your left foot away, but instead you just shift your ankles a bit, getting the tightness out of your joints with a few gentle clicks. “Don’t mind lefty. I still have most of my extremities,” you make a point of gesturing to the foot which is missing two or so of your toes, and wriggling the rest.

Hm. _Worse_ \- is this what you meant by that? Erwin cannot say he’s particularly bothered by it. He’s definitely seen a lot more severe maiming and injury in the field. If he was supposed to find it off-putting, he doesn’t, and just raises a dark blond brow at you, with a silent, unanswered question.

“Do you always drop in on your guests in the middle of the night?” your lips curved up a little at this, even though you’re still quite tired. “What will the guard think?” - you joke, a bit hoarsely, your throat dry from the fact you’d been in a deep, uneasy half-slumber.

“The guard was concerned, I was just going to bed myself. I was in my office for a while completing some paperwork, but I could hear you - it sounded like a rough dream,” he responds smoothly, unbothered “-I decided to relieve them of duty and check on you myself,” he carefully avoids mentioning that you look like hell, covered in sweat and clearly a bit out of sorts. He also avoids mentioning that he thought about sending for the Vice Legate to go and check on you, because as a commander himself, he wasn’t certain if he’d want to be seen in a moment of lowness.

He was an opportunist, too. He wanted to get you while you were tired and frazzled, and sate the curiosity he’s been keeping back for days. His feet always seemed to find excuses to drag him somewhere close to you, and he just wants it to stop. Erwin wants to clear the precious little space in his busy mind that was previously filled with the mundane, between working, and bring himself back to a sense of peace before you started taking over his thoughts. Filling his mind with unanswered questions and making yourself appear more and more curious with each moment he spent near you or around you.

You’re more forthcoming when you’re tired, and Erwin Smith rather likes the quiet moments he has with you. Even if they’re never more than a few minutes. All the stolen touches and little glances had set him alight in a way he hadn’t felt for a very long time. He wants to _know it all,_ and sink his teeth into everything that you are, and drain you of everything there was to learn. He needs it like he needs air because to him, you validate everything he lost. That pile of fallen comrades that seems to grow ever bigger that he stands high atop of, finally feels like it means something, and he doesn’t want to let that go.

“I’m sorry if I was disturbing anyone. I’m not so much of an easy sleeper anymore,” you crack your joints a little and yawn, before making a slow, tired come-hither gesture with your hand. This gets him by surprise a bit, but he walks further into the room, gently closing the door behind him.

He wants to broach a topic - the names. But now that he’s here, the unflappable commander doesn’t quite know where to begin. He had a plan, of course, because he always does - he just wasn’t sure how to ease into it. Erwin is not an overly social creature, he’s not opposed to it, but doing it for it’s own sake was always a bit of a lost art for him, because the last time he’d done it - as a child, it had gotten his father killed. He’d learned from that. He closed off afterwards. Everyone was at arm’s length, even Levi - but now that he wants someone not to be, he doesn’t know _how_ to pull them in.

“I thought this might help, since it worked wonders last time,” he pulls out the small black bottle reserve from an inner jacket pocket of his uniform, before he realises he forgot the cups this time.

“Visiting me at night _and_ liquoring me up? Maybe you really are devils,” your tone is absent of malice when you say this, and your inability to take anything too seriously remains ever present. It does not deter the naturally serious man, though. “I doubt you check on all your soldiers with bad dreams,” a hint of teasing in your tone. “Or maybe you do and my men are missing out, I could probably learn a thing or two,” you finish with a snort as he moves across the room to hand you the bottle. He’s about to take a seat on the small wooden chair by the little desk drawer, until he sees that you are patting a space on the bed beside you a few times.

“From what I hear, you’re a fine commander,” he responds diplomatically, not rising to the bait. He does, however, seat himself directly where you had patted the bed. At first, he wonders how it might look, but then glances at the door and dismisses the thought entirely. You invited him to sit, so it was fine, no matter how odd it might feel.

“Well shit, you’re not bad yourself. Apparently. Anyway, you’re gonna make me drink alone? I can share,” you take the bottle from him thankfully, and ask when you realise there are no bottles. Saliva isn’t the worst bodily fluid you’ve had to deal with, so sharing the bottle doesn’t bother you remotely. You’re generally very physical with all of your men, and the Vaziran people aren’t quite as reserved or precious about personal space.

According to most word of mouth, all of the Vazirans, you included, were physically quite warm and accepting, which went a long way with breaking down any of the outwardly intimidating veneer.

“A little one wouldn’t hurt,” Erwin responds coolly, though admittedly, in trying to get your attentions, he’s drinking a bit more than he usually does - it’s usually not a vice he engages In as much as most soldiers. It’s something he could generally take or leave, but he wont deny the camaraderie that comes from sharing a drink. It’s why he thought to bring it in the first place.

“That’s the spirit,” his eyes trace your throat as you tip your head back to take a large, unflattering glug. When you pass it back to him, your fingers brush ever so slightly in a manner that only Erwin really takes note of, and he merely holds the bottle, not nursing it straight away.

“I’m fine, though. You don’t have to worry. I’ll try and be quieter next time, eh?” an easy smile on your face which Erwin is now coming to realise is only genuine about half of the time. Now, he thinks, is not one of those times. He watches the way you brush some sweat soaked strands of dark hair from your forehead and lick the whiskey from your bottom lip. He glances away from your full lips to your eyes, only to feel his mind wander down that lecherous little pit it had briefly when he locked eyes onto your long, exposed legs. He’s that much older than you, even if you are twenty five, the last thing he wants is to come across as a pervert just because where you’re from, everyone is much less precious about modesty. At least, you seem to be. He’s not sure if everyone in Vazira is quite like that, but you and your men are utterly nonplussed by it all. That much, he’s been made aware of.

“It’s quite alright,” Erwin switches gears, for a moment. Maybe trying to play into your personality wasn’t the way to go. Mostly as Erwin isn’t quite equipped for it. He’s never been terribly good with humour or even flirtatious humour. He isn’t bereft of it, but he doesn’t know how to communicate through it, and he knows it. What he does know, is that he is a firm and often comforting presence, not in the way people expect - they don’t think of him as warm or cuddly, but rather, they rely on him to be the firm tower of knowledge that knows exactly what needs to be done. He speaks with a confidence that infects others. He should play to his strengths, and speak to you as an equal, even if he doesn’t understand how someone your age manages in the way that you do, he won’t bridge that gap unless he opens the barriers that are preventing them. “We just need you to be comfortable here,” not want, _need._

You catch that word, but don’t comment on it.

“I’m as comfortable as I can be inside of a titan city,” - and he supposes that’s fair, how comfortable can someone be in a city they know has slumbering titans in the walls?

“Is that what’s troubling you?” Erwin asks, before frowning ever so slightly. Yes. He’s not terribly good at this. He did have a semblance of a plan, but it doesn’t seem to be stacking up in practice. He’s rather out of tune, he thinks - talking with women. He can talk military all day, but what he’s doing right now, well, even for the infamous orator, who can convince men to die for his cause, he struggles in this capacity.

_I’m out of practice,_ Erwin mused _it wasn’t always this hard to talk to women._

“Name me someone serving in the armed forces who can sleep soundly,” you counter, punctuating it with a yawn and watching as Erwin finally sips a little of the reserve. Not enough, you think, but he wants to give it you back because it looks like you need it more, so he makes his own turn quick and chaste.

“Fair enough. We could hear you speaking Vaziri in your sleep, though. We weren’t sure if you were alright,” he specifies, and you just wave it off, your easygoing smile slowly dropping.

“I’m fine. Some people count sheep. I count the men who should be here but aren’t,” - the tone you use is a little too casual, a little too blasé - because the impact of that long mantra of names hits Erwin a lot more than the bitterness of the drink, and all he can do is look over at you with a lightly furrowed brow.

“I see,” - and he hates that it’s all he can think to say. “Did they perish getting here?” his tone is soft and low, it’s the most gentle one that he has, though it still doesn’t quite sound as comforting as he would like to aim for.

“Some of them,” you said, looking over at him. He’s quite close, but there’s still a respectable gap between your bodies, broken only with the passing back and forth of the small bottle. Next to you, however, Erwin seems grossly overdressed, with his full uniform regalia, minus his cloak, it only highlights your half-nakedness. “Dead by titans either way. All of them. Shit,” you grumble, stretching your legs a little bit with a small kick off the side of the bed.

“My battalion used to be a lot bigger than this,” you add shortly, glancing briefly to the window and seeing the full moon rise. How late did this guy stay working in his office? You wonder.

“I can tell,” Erwin replied “-it was a sizeable list,” - there’s a trace of sympathy in his tone, though not immediately obvious to the untrained ear. As someone whose not particularly close to the man, this easily goes over your head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not for the first time “-you can only do your best. It’s impossible to account for every eventuality. Abnormals especially. The Survey Corps has come from expeditions with less men,” he elaborates, but you just shake your head, and letting out a put out sigh. “The fact that any of you made it after just a year long of dedicated titan training is a testament to skill. Our soldiers train for three years, and then have support groups on their first few expeditions until they find their feet.”

“You trying to comfort me or something?” you grumbled, looking into those luminous, deeply intriguing blue eyes that were now closer to you than they’d ever been.

“Tch. This is no one’s fault but mine,” your lips grimacing ever so slightly. “-these men had already survived titans once already, and still had some Eldian sympathies despite it all. I took advantage of that. I didn’t want to go into your lands with soldiers who hadn’t experienced titans in combat at least once. Numbers were thin if you try to put together how many soldiers who’ve faced titans actually feel any sympathy for the people that can become them. But I found them, and convinced them that they could survive titans a second time and come here,” there’s an almost familiar bitterness in your tone. It took Erwin a moment, but he realises quickly why.

It’s something he had for a while, a long, long time ago.

“You were ordered by your King, were you not? All you did was make it more palatable, it sounds like,” - in this moment, the way you look at him with those fiery, topaz eyes, he can believe why you might be able to convince men to willingly face a titan again. You’re the kind of person people go to war for, he thinks. Though, he muses, it might just be because your openness and readiness to touch him and entertain his questions is clouding his judgement. He won’t deny the sight of you naked from the waist down might be the most enticing thing he’s seen in a long, long while. He hasn’t allowed himself to dwell on it, but every time his mind or his eyes stray, he does feel his thoughts getting a little more cloudy. A little more obfuscated. Just a bit. Erwin has a remarkable amount of self control, but he is slipping - just a tad, anyway.

“They deserved better,” is all you say to that, looking at him piercingly now. “-So this has to mean something. It can’t be for nothing. That’s why I’m …thankful for your support in the meeting,” you sigh, and take a smaller sip of the drink, and placing the bottle delicately between your exposed thigh and Erwin’s clothed one.

“But it just makes me wonder, what are you hoping for, hm?” you tilt your head a bit, and lean forward a bit, pressing into his space. The blond doesn’t react, though and merely stares down at you, calculatingly.

“What do you want from me, Commander Erwin?” he’s so close he can smell the alcohol on your lips now, which tells him he’s too close - but he doesn’t move, because moving would draw attention to it, and he doesn’t want to pull out of this moment.

“ ‘Cause, and, don’t take it wrongly. I don’t know if you have this phrase, but you’re washing up like a bad penny,” your lips drawing back into a smirk that is quickly becoming familiar to him. “-Everywhere I turn, you’re there. You’re a busy man, I gather. So what are you looking for?” out of habit, you cross one leg over the other, as you often do when you’re talking more seriously. The bunched up silken shirt that’s mostly under the borrowed jumper rides up further, and the older man actively reminds himself not to let his eyes wander.

“Everything,” it comes out before he really thinks, which doesn’t really happen to Erwin, but the combination of your leering, intensive stare and disarmingly brazen nature has caught him in a perfect storm of things that make him a little off-kilter.

“It’s selfishness,” Erwin concedes - his plan is now back on track, because he has figured out how he might get what he wants - and learn everything he’s been starving to know. “I want to know everything there is to know, and I don’t want to stop until I do. I’ve had plenty of soldiers die for that desire,” if he’s honest, in the same frank manner you are, he’s certain he’ll get what he wants.

_That openness._

“But all we’ve done is make you talk. Even my efforts to make your stay here easier are not touching the sides when compared to how much we’re expecting of you, and your alliance,” he adds “-I know that. So I thought you could take a break from it,” he picks up the bottle between your bodies, his eyes tracing over the thick of your thighs in a way that makes his throat a little drier. His eyes betray him a moment, and dip into the crevice of your hips and sends an intrusive thought about just how exposed you might be, with only a fragile flap of bunched up white silk deftly hanging down from your lower abdomen, covering the private, erogenous area between your legs.

_Does she have any idea what that does to a man? -_ he dismisses the unwelcome thought as quickly as it comes, raising his eyes and the bottle up to his mouth.

“And that I’d do some talking instead,” - Erwin knows that the best way to get something, is to give something. So, with one curious glance to your missing toes - he begins to tell a story.

A story about a little boy who asked too many questions, and got his father killed.

“Of course, you don’t have those sorts of thoughts as a child - that the system is wrong and will punish you for challenging it. My father was killed for that mistake, likely by our corrupt interior police of the time,” he is swift to add - however “-it’s not quite so terrible now. But, I tell you this so you understand, I know what you mean when you say that it has to mean something,” he finishes. He’s so detached from his own story though, that he doesn’t really react as he tells it. If he’s bothered by the actions he took as a child, blabbing his father’s theory about memories being intentionally wiped from all those within the Walls, he doesn’t show it. His face is remarkably impassive, but you just look over at him, a delicate frown on your face, smile completely absent now.

_All this death has to mean something._

“I understand,” you stop kicking your feet idly, and move your hand towards his shoulder, hesitating in the space between your bodies. You’re much more forward with your men, because they were your brothers in arms, your found family in a sense. It’s now, with a stranger, that you falter. But he’d told you something so personal that it sits like a lead weight in your gut.

It did make the Commander’s forgiving and generous actions towards you and your men make sense though. He was personally invested, it was a selfish, driving urge instilled in him from his childhood that has finally got the chance to be fully slaked and for that reason, Erwin Smith just cannot shake you.

You’re everything he has ever fought for, and now, you know it.

“May I?” - you ask, and at first, Erwin isn’t sure what the question is, but his eyes flicker to your hesitating hands and he just gives a single nod. He’s sacrificed a lot to get answers, a lot of lives mostly. Sacrificing his habit of leaving everyone at arm’s length - by comparison, is a very small ask.

He cannot say he particularly minds it, either. He feels your hand slithering around him, at first, he had expected it to land squarely on the shoulder facing you. Instead, your arm slithers around his back and your hand lands on the opposite shoulder, putting him in a stiff, half-embrace that neither of you lean into, but he feels your smaller hand squeezing against his shoulder-blade.

_Now whose doing the comforting?_ He thinks wryly. He doesn’t particularly need it, he thinks, but it is… nice. What throws him, however, is the emphatic, and surprisingly emotive statement that leaves your lips.

“I’m sorry, Commander. You were just a _baby_ though,” this is the most serious he thinks he has ever seen you since you arrived, it’s a little jarring, though not unpleasant. “-How were you to know that would happen? Of course you wouldn’t,” a soft cluck of disapproval leaving the back of your throat as you mutter something disdainful in Vaziri towards those that Erwin had suspected were involved in arranging his father’s _accident._

However, because it was made to look like an accident, and was commonly accepted fact except for the rare occasion Erwin were to discuss it with his inner circle - which has happened only twice - once with Levi, and once with Hange Zoe, he has never particularly felt a need to voice it. He had learned to keep his mouth shut. To stop telling his father’s theories of the outside. He conducted huge portions of his life forcing himself to stay quiet for so long that nobody had ever said something as benign and factually correct as _you were a baby, how were you going to know any better?_

There were so few people out there who knew or accepted his father’s death as an assassination, that nobody had ever actually articulated such a sad little comfort to him. It couldn’t do much. Couldn’t erase the past. It shouldn’t really mean a lot, but, Erwin - despite himself - feels a misplaced curdle of warmth in the pit of his chest.

He didn’t expect that.

It’s hard to digest, even at this age, that he was just a child - because he always thought himself as mature beyond his years. He grew into the sort of person who truly was, after all. But, the term _baby,_ it throws him off, and not in an unpleasant way, but forces him to briefly consider just how young he was when he made that fatal error - he always held himself to account for it, the way an adult would. But was that fair? 

“Thank you for telling me,” it was a welcome change from you and your men having to spill your guts for hours, and it did make the generosity of the commander make a bit more sense.

“You didn’t have to, but I get it now,” you yawn again, feeling the tiredness creep up on you. Your arm that’s stretched around his back sags ever so slightly but, you keep the hand on his shoulder firmly. “I always left our little chats wondering what you wanted, because you always look at me like…” you trail off.

You glance at him, and see his impossible to read, cool, blue stare - unyielding and fierce, even when his expression is considerably less severe than normal.

“Like that,” you murmur. “I couldn’t imagine living in a place where the memories and legacy of my own history was stolen from me. Even in the name of peace. I couldn’t abide it. Your history belongs to you,” - you curse softly after you state this. “Shit. This is why some of us still managed to feel bad for your kind. Despite it all. All the men we lost, my battalion…. we…” you trail off, and shake your head.

“We have our own rough history, but I understand you a little better, I think,” stretching a final time, you draw a leg up to your chin, exposing more of the underside of your legs. In this moment, Erwin’s both relieved and marginally regretful for being sat beside you, because he’s not quite sure he could trust where his eyes might go. “More than anything, I - _we_ \- “ you correct yourself quickly, but Erwin catches it. “We understand more than most that sometimes, bad shit just happens. We don’t ask for it. We can’t control it. We may even be a symptom of it. But we just have to live through it, and we don’t always get a choice.”

“The way we see it, your people didn’t have a choice. No one will relate to you more than us in that regard. We know enough to know that nobody chooses to be a titan, and for those of us that can forgive the irreparable damage to our countrymen, the agony of not having a choice runs impossibly deep. It’s why the best of us cannot hate you. The King knows it and it’s why he chose us,” you let go of his shoulder and back, dropping both hands into your naked thighs and let out a long, final, exhausted sigh.

Erwin’s plan worked, a moment of vulnerability, a quid pro quo, a something for something - got him an answer he wanted. He just didn’t want it to be something quite so terrible, but then again, the world is full of terrible truths - he has come to learn this in his time.

“My men didn’t join the Vaziran army willingly. Not at first,” there’s a hint of moroseness that he’s never heard come from your lips before, but you don’t want to break this gentle moment. You don’t want to crowd Erwin’s surprisingly forthcoming confession with your own story in an effort to commiserate, because you didn’t want to railroad it over in a hamfisted attempt at empathy - even if that’s what Erwin wants.

Not right now.

“We can talk about this tomorrow, if you have the time,” you gesture to the bright full moon, and quickly place a hand over the commander’s without thinking - you do it to Sahtar all the time, and given that he’d consented to your stiff comforts before, you don’t even think about it. It doesn’t even cross your mind when you pull it to your closest, unclothed knee, and give it a gentle squeeze. You weren’t above ruffling your men’s hair, clapping their back, squeezing their hands or even their faces in the rare situations it called for it - and the idea of being so closed off physically isn’t one that you mirror terribly well.

You don’t even feel every inch of Erwin Smith tense in surprise, before relaxing slowly.

He can’t say he particularly minds the touchiness, though the readiness for it makes him muse, briefly, if he might just be so out of practice that he’s just, slightly touch starved. Perhaps not just in a solely sexual manner of speaking, though his mind had gone there more than once, but also in a purely interpersonal, platonic sense.

This is the consequence of pushing everybody away.

“I’ll make time,” Erwin’s voice, softer than he’s used to hearing it from his own lips, echoes a sentiment you had expressed only a day or two prior.

“Alright then,” you finish, this time - you close the little stolen moment, albeit a little reluctantly. He’s easy on the eyes, after all. Incredibly easy on the eyes, and more than once you’d caught his wandering look - but you knew when to put caring and duty ahead of your more chaotic urges, even if your demeanour didn’t exude that control most of the time. “We should probably retire for the night, no? I don’t need an excuse to look more like shit,” you chuckle a bit, because it’s a humourless joke - but Erwin doesn’t believe it for a second.

In fact, though he isn’t used to your darker complexion and brightly fiery eyes, he’d be hard pressed to think of you as anything except stunning - which had Pixis’s quiet words in a separate meeting playing in his head.

_What a coarse little beauty._

Shit.

_I’m too old for this._

The thought is dispelled by another brief squeeze of the hand, for which he’s thankful to whatever sliver of modesty you have that you haven't absent-mindedly put his hand between your thighs instead of your knees.

“Gurenda nita,” you say, offering him the last of the drink before he leaves - but he politely declines with a graceful little smile.

“Goodnight, Legate.” He pauses when you go to get up, and quickly beats away the distracting, passing thoughts.

_Less of that. She’s not looking at me like that -_ Erwin chides himself, because in his eyes, it’s been a while, and he’s long since lost his touch.

“You stay in bed, I’ll see myself out,” he says, if only because he’s certain you’ll stand up fully and not care for how much further his jumper has made the over-long shirt you’d previously worn as a sleeping dress, ride so far up that he’ll see a lot more than just your thighs.

He’s not sure how easy it would have been to convince himself to leave if you would have done so. For all of his stoicism, he’s just a man of flesh and blood - and mulls over intimacy and touch just as any other, and it’s made worse by how many degrees of separation he tries to put between himself and others.

_I cannot keep meeting with her like this._

But now he has to, he’s too close - he’s on the precipice of learning so much and he can’t pull himself away.

_What a selfish old man I’ve become._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God... it's been hard getting these out... I work lonnnggggg shifts. I just want to write my Erwin loving garbage :(
> 
> Please review if you liked it! Thanks for paying my self-indulgent plotless mess any attention at all.


	6. Phoenix

_Chapter Six_

**Phoenix**

Once upon a time, he’d fallen in love.

It had been a very long time ago. He was younger, and far more handsome than he was now - him and Nile Dok had become smitten with the same woman in a bar, in a much more distant time. Nile joined the Military Police to protect her, but Erwin couldn’t sacrifice his dream - to know the world beyond, and do that. At the time, he had supposed that it made Nile Dok a much better man than he was. He had quietly doomed himself and had long since accepted his emotional unavailability as a natural consequence of his life and his actions. Now though?

Now he wasn’t quite sure what to think.

Being much older now, it seems like a lifetime ago. He can barely remember the feeling - and supposes that his response to the Dame Legate is him superimposing all of his hopes and needs onto her.

He thinks of that little delicate moment - the dulcet little _‘may I?’_ as you pleaded to touch him. He’s confronted with just how much that misplaced comfort for his childhood self had made him feel warm inside. Even if it was just a fraction - and it was inconsequential. Hells, it was all so long ago, did it make him pathetic to feel comforted by someone so much younger than him? Erwin’s not sure, but the words _you were a baby,_ and the soft, disapproving click of your tongue in your mouth when he had implied the heavy burden of blame was totally and utterly on the shoulders of his child self, swirled in his mind hauntingly.

Erwin wonders, if maybe, he’s thinking about it because he’s starved of touch. When was the last time he was handled in such a fashion? So delicately, and without any kind of expectation? It has had to have been years, he’s certain - because he cannot dreg up a memory for the life of him. He wonders if he needs to add pathetic to both _greedy_ and _perverse -_ for getting comforted by someone so much younger. Why did it feel so natural? Is he no different from the older Vaziran men who let themselves get cajoled, ruffled and playfully touched - who visibly shone when you would praise them. When you would wrap your arms around their backs and swing between them...

Maybe the foreigners have it right. Maybe we shouldn’t be so reserved with each other when life is so utterly fleeting and brief. If he had leaned into your hesitant, gentle touch - would you have done anything different? Would you have let him take that level of warmth from you when you weren't half as close to him as you are to your battalion?

Erwin thinks about the way that you press the side of your face against your Vice Legate and Ryka, and warmly called them _your boys_ and likened it to how you had gently reminded him he was just a _baby who made a mistake._ He knows instantly now, that you likely would have let it happen, with the playful grin you had when you sat on the edge of the walls, watching Springer and Blouse throw each around with their ODM gear between bouts of laughter.

As he lays in bed, he moves the hand that had been encased in the Legate’s all the way up to his chin and lip, his thoughts stray further and further as he leans into his pillow.

And then, of course, he wonders if he’s just utterly enticed and being led by his flesh and blood urges and allowing himself to be so physically smitten he lies to himself. Those thoughts were certainly present, and he would struggle to not regard you as a sort of exotic beauty in your own right. Maybe he is not simply just a touch starved man in a world where men do not so commonly show their love and their hearts, maybe he's just a pervert. He thinks of those long, thick, dark legs that exuded quiet strength and bites back a faint groan in the back of his throat that night. There are too many complicating strings of thought. Part of him had yearned to extend the delicate touch you gave him, but so much of the rest of him wanted to look beneath your shirt and between your thighs and soil all of that softness.

_Perhaps I’m all of those things, just a sad old, greedy, selfish pervert who needs to be touched._

Erwin knows he cannot afford to complicate an alliance with these sorts of urges, but, he thinks that it might already been complicated the moment his hand first shook yours, the day that Levi’s squad had brought you in.

He’d been hooked in that moment - physically at least. The way the candles made those honey-coloured irises light up like a warm, toasty hearth - and then simply could not forget them.

His feelings complicate as he stretches slightly underneath the blankets. He chases that sensation of warmth in the pit of his stomach when your soft, entrancing accent had purred out that he was just a baby, who had a fraction of innocence that had deserved to be protected. Nobody did, of course. And it was much too little too late. Erwin had grown up learning when to shut his mouth, so why, now, at the age of thirty-eight, did it circle around in his mind over and over and make him feel almost forgivable? He knows he isn’t. But the way you look at him with those hearthfire eyes and speak to him so sweetly, unprompted - he could believe it.

_That’s why those men will die for you._

There’s a needling sensation of jealousy, which disappears almost as soon as it comes. It would be easy for Erwin to convince himself he’s no more special then the others you lie so sweetly to. He tries to, but he has to bite back a soft noise and sink his teeth into his lower lip as his mind drifts closer to a floating, sleeping freedom.

He barely knows you. He has no right to feel any kind of way, it is probably just a physical selfish yearning he has. You’re young and effortlessly pretty, but entirely too callous and immodest to fully appreciate what it is that you so casually _do_ to a man when you flaunt yourself carelessly. Or maybe you knew and didn’t care, which is strangely arousing even still. It's the brazen nature of it, and the casual confidence that he finds appealing - it's the lack of intent that makes him feel voyeuristic, and yet it captivates him. 

Erwin quite suddenly finds himself unable to escape from his thoughts as they twist in this direction, unhindered by a need to maintain composure and politeness, in the quiet, dark sanctity of his private quarters.

_‘Mmn. Visiting me at night and liquoring me up?’_ he thinks of those glittering fires of your eyes, and small quirk of the lips, those full and wet lips that shone under the oil light from the glistening trail of whiskey.

Those slender, tanned legs moving up so you can place a knee under your chin, exposing the nakedness beneath your thighs, with no sliver of fabric to cover much else as his jumper bunched up the long, sleeping silk white shirt underneath.

Erwin’s mind slithers to a dark, erogenous place that he no longer has the energy to try to resist or pull back from. So much of him doesn’t want to fight it, that he rolls onto his back and gives in, eyes falling shut.

_‘All this just to help me sleep?’ those full, shining lips curving into a salacious smirk. Eyelashes downwards while you speak in a gentle, dulcet purr that made your voice crackle from how much softer you sounded instead of the loud, cajoling snarls, banter and playfully catty teasing you’d throw at your men._

_‘Commander… you don’t do this for all your guests do you?’ that same, teasing lilt from earlier leaves your lips as your tongue flicks over them to wipe the whiskey clean. ‘Are you giving me special treatment…?’ your body raising up slightly off the bed as you sat on your bent knees and let the thin sliver of fabric over your crotch rise up centimetre by centimetre. Erwin stretches his hands out, letting them find the small of your hips._

_‘A little bit wouldn’t hurt. I just need you to be comfortable here…’ Erwin replies, his hands trail down to those thighs and he imagines what it is like to sink his fingers deep against that warm, soft skin. Your hand captures his right wrist and then directs it squarely to in the gap between your legs as you recline back onto your rear. Even in his fantasy, Erwin pauses, while you give him that all encompassing gaze._

_‘Mmn… Erwin… is this what you’ve been wanting?’ you breathe out heavily, tilting your head back so your long, dark hair cascaded behind you to reveal that slender throat. ‘Hah! You’re a..ahn…true demon…’ before your voice lapses into a low noise of approval when his hand finally pushes up against a heated, damp, aching_ _space_ _against the front of your crotch. Erwin’s other hand yanks up the shirt, revealing you utterly -_ sending goosebumps down his body as he turns slightly in bed, real warmth coursing through his veins.

He’s so very aroused with his own curiosity and achingly touch-starved thoughts that he can feel waves of heat crashing south of his waist and pooling in the base of his gut. Erwin feels utterly encircled by his own, deafening curiousness and perverse yearning to see what you look like naked. His mind, trying desperately to fill in the blanks of all he parts he hasn’t seen. He wants to fill it in with what he could see through the silhouette of your form through the taut, ill-fitting borrowed clothes you wore day to day and what he knew an exposed woman to look like. But he just _doesn’t_ know, and a man like Erwin needs to know it all. Needs to fill in his gaps. Desperately wanting to know how your body differed due to your complexion, all of the little differences from Eldian to Vaziran, every muscle, every callous patch, every soft part, every pore, every blemish - he wants it _all._

He wants to learn your body and trace the roadmap to pleasure up and down the length of it. The height of his sensually intrusive fantasy stirs him awake. Erwin groans quietly into the back of his hand, resting it on his face in light, rarely-seen frustration.

His other hand begrudgingly slips south of his sleepwear, and he tenses all over at how little resistance he has to the whole fantasy of it - _for God's sake, why is he acting like he's seventeen again?_ He’s too tired to feel pitiable and degenerate for doing so. _No one has to know._ Tomorrow he will look you in the eyes and remain unfaltering. It's something men grow up doing, and manage to get by just fine. Erwin is a man of remarkable self control most of the time, but he's desperate to reclaim the quietness of his more mundane thoughts.

For now, all Erwin wants to do is sleep, and reclaim that portion of his mind you had unwittingly stolen - even if he has to touch himself to do it.

* * *

“You’re getting obvious,” Levi says, with his typically unreadable coolness. For those that don’t know the captain well, it is hard to tell if he’s being rude or simply himself. The Commander is impassive, and doesn’t defend himself. It is unsurprising that he has to liaise in close, and quiet quarters with the Dame Legate, but he doesn’t interact half as much with the Vice Legate, and it’s rather known that he regularly shares a nightcap with the foreign commander, with the door all the way shut. Most soldiers who see Erwin as practically an asexual being who exists only to give orders and battle formations don’t bat an eye, but the more playful of them were careful to watch the public interactions of the pair - and fuel gossip mills. Not that they're particularly bad at the moment, though. It's public knowledge that Erwin uses his quarters as a secondary office, so the nightly meetings don't seem to strike as too strangely, save for the irregular visit the night previous, where Erwin had dismissed the night guard, Sasha. It was nothing but a one note joke, though - as most considered a man of such high standing to be a non-sexual, non-romantic sort, so it was largely just a short joke, but it slightly concerned Levi that it was a joke at all. Rumour can sometimes be seeded in small truths, so he was keeping a passive eye on it.

“I’ve received a letter from the interior,” Erwin replied “-there’s a date set, and some things we’ll all need to discuss.” He doesn’t address Levi’s words, because they’re not wrong. The shorter man picks up on that, and raises a brow at the man.

“Privately, I assume,” Levi doesn’t let it go, though - he’s close enough with the man that he can be impudent. “With the door shut.”

Erwin gives him an even look, seemingly unperturbed by the brazen captain’s non-subtle implications. Of course it’s obvious, Erwin rarely elects to spend his time with others for fun, but his feet always find themselves somewhere closer by, and Levi is incredibly perceptive.

“She’s more amenable that way, it’s how we reached an accord. Are you trying to get to a particular point?” his eyes move to the training grounds, where the Vazirans are running and doing warm ups alongside some of their own soldiers.

“Tch, just be careful old man,” Levi doesn’t mince his words “-these people are desperate for allies and they’ll do anything,” he recalls what the Dame Legate had said to him so casually, and what she’d told her men the day prior.

_Some men just need women to lie to them sweetly._

He doesn’t want the commander to be one of those men, though Erwin is easily the smartest person he knows, all men are fallible, and to Levi, Erwin is one man who cannot afford to be.

“I know,” Erwin replies, because of course he does - it’s all he’s thought about ad nauseam in his spare moments, compared against how desperately he needs it all to be true.

_So will I,_ he thinks.

Levi wants to say something else, but he isn’t sure how to say it, or if he event wants to open the metaphorical can of worms. He wants to call him out, and call out the way his eyes barely linger on each of the men before they settle on the female commander, but it’s not his place. Not that it’s stopped Levi in the past, but he doesn’t know how to have that conversation, and he isn’t about to patronise the best strategist humanity has because he’s making eyes at a woman. Shadis is doing something similar, but with a much more critically curious eye. Your attention is largely on your men rather than whose audience you have - because you usually consider engaging in the sparring aspects of training to be more of a favour then something you need to do as regularly as you did a few years ago, but it was always good to keep your form.

“Come on, I got Sahtar down yesterday,” Ryka grins. “Roll around and join the rest of us peasants,” he chuckles - and for many of the Eldians, it’s the first time they’ve heard the seldom-speaking Ryka make that noise. 

"No, you need to take a break and get your arm checked out," you replied crisply "-just because you can dislocate it on purpose to land a blow doesn't mean you're the authority on putting it back in, and I don't want another pinched flesh incident like last time," at this, you had strode forwards and playfully flicked the man at the side of his temple, with a disapproving look. Whilst a lot of the Eldians did not have context for your words, they didn't need it. Ryka displayed a frightening level of brutality and raw, fighting tenacity. 

"Now, ya big idiot," you huff, until Ryka relents and turns to head to the on site medical bay, which was quickly getting used to sparring related incidents. Not that the incidents themselves seemed to deter any of the men from their schedules, and it was never so serious that it warranted much in the way of supplies, but you were thankful all the same. Amir and Sahtar are still engaged with one another, but it's Ashwari who gets your attention - since their obvious malcontent in the nights previous had been in the back of your mind for a while. One of the things about being a commander isn't just tactical, when it comes to serving in the same battalion, a lot of it is about people management, pure and simple. You understood your men, and in turn, they had a respect for you, and so while a lot of your choices and actions may be initially perplexing on the outside, it all feels very natural despite that.

"Ashwari, if you give me a few minutes, I'll spar you next," - now this had gotten the collective attentions of Shadis, Erwin, and Levi - though you didn't seem to notice the latter two as much as you were aware of the cadet trainer and just how judgemental and curious his looks were. 

This wasn't about proving anything to the Eldians, though that would be a side effect, no. 

This was about people management.

_Your people._

Ashwari visibly bristles, a brief look of surprise on his features before a rather nasty little smile stretches onto his face. There is a palpable wave of frantic excitement and curiosity from the graduated trainees who were becoming more comfortable sharing their space with the foreigners. A few of them had opted, to the surprise of Keith Shadis, to join in on some of their training activities, like jogging alongside them or taking part in some of the less strenuous activities like warm ups stretches and cool downs. To Shadis's credit, his cadets kept up remarkably well - they're all in the peak of their physical condition, the difference being - you and your men were older, and had more experience behind you. That, and the training of the Vaziran army was unrelentingly brutal, so for much of their sparring sessions, the cadets would opt to sit back and place bets. Shadis had begrudgingly allowed it, because there's not too much fun to be had in the cadets, his job is to mould youngsters for death, but camaraderie was important. These people had to be ready to fight next to each other, depending on where they wanted to go when they picked their regiment.

Shadis also thinks, that there's something to learn from the Vazirans, and if nothing else, the way that they train could put into perspective just how good the cadets have it by comparison. 

Two of the louder, and older graduates that had started the playful betting process were more excited than the others. The tall boy with platinum sliver hair and cool, grey eyes loudly places his stakes on Ashwari, but a shorter figure, with similar eyes, but curly, sunflower-yellow blond hair yells over at you.

"Don't listen to Augie! I've bet my pudding on you!" - this makes your lips twitch, before you call out for some handwraps - as Ashwari is getting visibly impatient. The young lady apologies for her brother - Augustine, and quickly scarpers off to get the supplies. Surprisingly, she bounds over to wrap them around your hands herself, in between playfully egging you on, apparently - your unseen prowess had been the subject of the Mess Hall and who would win sparring against who, as some of the Eldians were eager to try and square off to Ryka - though no one quite had the gall to try that with someone as built as Sahtar.

"Thanks for that, cute girl," You replied wryly, while you let this young woman wrap your knuckles tightly, musing over their status to the rest of the world, it's hard to believe that all of these people possessed a slumbering ability to become a monster, when exposed to titan serum. When you look over at this girl, it just doesn't line up - picturing her, or anyone you'd met so far really, becoming such a force of chaos and brutality in the world. When you call the young woman _cute girl,_ it throws her for a second, and she looks up at you with a surprised smear of redness over the bridge of her nose.

"Hey, stop flirting and fight me already! I'll be geriatric by the time you're done," Ashwari snaps, only for you to whip your head over your shoulder to give him an agitated look.

"Don't rush me, you know I like blondes," you grin at the girl, who looks a little bit more red and gently push her for her name "-What do I call you, Cute Girl?" a teasing in your tone. Brighter hair colours aren't really found in Vazira, unless it's a dye or a bleach brought from the port bazaars, and her facial features are small, soft and typically considered adorable. Unlike your men, beyond the guards posted by Levi squad, and stolen moments with some of the original 104th, you hadn't made much social impact with the lower ranks, so you considered partaking in today's training as a way of making that up a little.

The girl stammers a few times, before she blurts out "Irma. Irma Wagner," - and blushes visibly from neck to ears. You roll the r in her name playfully as she finishes with your hands, and you take them loosely into your own with a teasing smile.

"Pretty name," - you ignore Ashwari's annoyed sounds. "Tch. Men are so impatient. Let me go and defend your dessert, Miss Irma Wagner," you pull her hands up a little, closer to your chest though not quite on it, and give her a conspiratorial little wink that does not go unnoticed by anybody present. Your men were collectively either rolling their eyes, were nonplussed, or at the very least, showing some vague amusement - because they were used to your brazen flirting, but most people were not.

"When I win, we should share it," you practically purr, but a nervous, excitable giggle leaves Irma's throat before she can stop it - because she can tell you're not being quite so serious, but the amount of attention you're levying at her, combined with the reaction it was getting - and how much it was incensing her brother, Augustine, she laps up the attention and preens a little bit when your glittery, golden stare shines with quiet mirth.

It is Sahtar who spots Levi and Erwin from the short distance away first, and is very visibly rolling his eyes. He's quick to greet them, even if all Levi does is nod his head briefly - in his capacity as the Vice Legate, he at least takes things outwardly more seriously. 

"Good morning, I'll assume you're looking for her," he gestures to you, who still has the young woman's hands in your freshly wrapped ones, ignoring the playful hoots that were drowning out Augustine's frustrated yells of _stop flirting with my sister and go fight!_

"Mm. It seems she's occupied," is all Erwin says, with a raise of one of his brows - depending on how long this all took, he may have to return later, but, his feet root him in place. They heard most of the exchange, and the Vazirans are quite a loud sort, and he can swear he feels Levi's eyes flicker to him almost imperceptibly quick as he watches with silent impatience. He watched for any reaction from the commander, but found him appearing rather nonplussed by it all, but Levi knows better - if he suggests coming back later, Erwin will dismiss him and remain standing.

"Don't worry," Sahtar says, his tone oozing with self-assuredness, "This will be over shortly," - though his own words make him take pause. Vazirans could train all day, and have done, in all weather conditions - so he's quick to add "-I'll stop it if I have to, just let them get a bit of practice in." 

Of course, Sahtar knows exactly why you're doing it. There's layers to it all, and it's probably good that the Commander and Captain are present, since the idea of proving their military worth did swirl in his mind, the Vice Legate knows that this isn't necessarily what it's about. The Vazirans are no stranger to grief, and most of them have their own way of coping with it - but Ashwari, he's the sort of person that needs to physically exert his frustration, or he becomes quietly pent up until it comes out as something far more ugly. Since the night previous, it became apparent that, unlike the others, he's not one to compartmentalise it all, and just like way back when, on their first non-artillery titan mission, Ashwari did not cope keeping his grief inside of him.

Levi stares at Sahtar with some measure of skepticism, but folds his arms over his chest nonetheless. Ashwari drops the practice swords when it's apparent that you're ready to actually get physical, and licks his lower lip in anticipation. Most of the men train with their shirts off, showing just how much weight they were able to outclass their opponent with. That, and each of them is at the peak of their fitness, a lot of their stretches and techniques relied on freedom of movement, and displayed a long array of deep, almost tribal markings on their bodies that were purposefully raised against their skin. None of them had seen scarification before, at least, nothing like that - but it was one of the things that had contributed to the rather ghoulish veneer the foreigners gave off - up until they began including their hosts in their training, and displaying just how much more openly affectionate their culture proved to be.

All of the the men all take pause to watch Amir initiate a count down.

_"Pah'uf!"_ the numbers melted into a loud, Vaziri snarl and just like that, Ashwari is cutting through the space between himself and the Dame Legate. He moves with the kind of speed you could see a snake move with when it stretches their entire body to speed itself jaw first into its next meal. Ashwari is a man who comes close as Sahtar's physical second, though standing shorter and a bit stockier, the way that he moves is entirely in power strikes, emphasised by the flex and bend of his thickset muscles, sweat already pouring down his back from the amount of training he'd done to this point. 

Levi cannot help but have his mind reel back to what he and his soldiers observed from their quiet reconnaissance spots deep in the leaves of the Forest of Giant Trees, and the screaming he'd heard that he now knows had come directly from the Dame and Vice Legates.

_'You're going to fight that?'_

**_'I'm going to KILL that!'_ **

While Levi had enough reason to doubt how the Dame might stack up physically against her men in melee combat, if the Dame can take down titans with the world's shittiest grappling gear, he knows he has room to have his assumptions proven wrong. There's plenty of shouting from all sides - cadets, graduates, and Vazirans, but the rather malicious, many-toothed grin that the Captain remembers is etched firmly on the Dame's face once again, just the same way it had on their day of arrival, and laughed bitterly when he called their expedition a suicide mission. It's the same, malicious grin from that day, and though he can't understand Vaziri - he doesn't need to, because you freely switch from that to Eldian, and openly goad Ashwari.

"Why are you being so fucking slow Ashwari?" you easily strafed away from his first, initial power strike, though there is an undercurrent of humour in your tone that persisted, even now.

Ashwari snarls, and rounds on you again, going to sweep for your torso with his left leg hurtling towards your midsection - again with that frightening speed that makes a strangled gasp come out of some of the cadets. With a wide-footed stance, you clip backwards away from the leg with a speed that almost makes you seem like a blur. Ashwari moves like a hurricane of punches and kicks, his body twisting to deliver powerful, teeth-shattering blows, and equally, you seem to be moving and strafing with a practised ease, whilst pointedly not putting much distance between yourself and him.

"Don't tell me you used up all your stamina warming up!" there was that ever present brazenness that manifested as cocky mockery "-you're supposed to save your energy for the woman!" your lip curved into a much more demeaning tease than you'd been doing with the Wagner girl.

"And here I thought you were going to give it to me good!" you choked out between deft dodges, bangs moving in the wind and almost struggling to keep up with the overall lightning speed that the pair of you seemed to be interlocked in. For those watching, at least, it's a visually overwhelming sort of scene, moving that quickly without any mechanical propulsion. In a handful of moments, Ashwari is able to land a blow - almost, but it's blocked by the heaving, flexing muscles of your forearms, and whilst some of the physically closer cadets grimaced at the noise of impact, you do not even falter, and continue to grin wildly.

"Hit me back!" Ashwari snapped, because in truth, you're just defending and dodging for most the part, even if it is with a birdlike grace, it's no longer just about letting him feel like he's getting his anger out in a few blows to your blocking arms, he wants it to feel like a real fight, because Ashwari isn't holding back.

**_"Stop - fucking - humouring me!"_ **

Much of the fight continues like that, and to Ashwari's credit, it's easy to see why his name means _snake strike,_ but this frustrated cry seemed to jog a change in the atmosphere, at least, between those two. Sahtar grimaces visibly at this, and begins shaking his head, and exhales slowly.

Great. 

He contemplates halting the fight, like he said he would, but at this point, he had very little desire to get in the center of it, personally. He would if he needed to, but at this point, you began doing more than reading and leading, because everything started becoming very quick and very ferocious. The smile was ever present, but now Ashwari was lunging with the intent of landing at least one blow above the neck, or at the very least, get you on the ground. Now, for the majority of the training the Eldians had done with the foreigners, they were able to see they were incredibly quick, and powerful in their muscular blows, but the true level of dexterity and nimbleness wasn't something that they typically associated with their builds - until they had seen the way Ashwari had to move to even try and land a hit on you.

But even Levi has to reluctantly admit, you're both impressive to watch, and he concedes this when you bend your spine backwards to a devastating angle, physically out of the way of a brutally aimed spinning kick that would have taken your head off your shoulders. 

Levi glances at Erwin briefly after this, but the only change in his expression is how far both of his eyebrows have shot up. 

The other thing that became painfully obvious, was the overall physique and strength in your own body that was able to parry and match evenly against men who were stacked to a much greater degree, and though Levi is certain you'll be covered in bruises, and that any of these blocks had likely seriously hurt, it wasn't something you displayed even once during the entire sparring session. Your strength lays mostly in your kicks and your thickset thighs, the power of them truly felt when you're pushed back out by one of Ashwari's sweeps, but refuse to buckle or slip onto your ass, and instead skid across the ground with a firmly maintained stance, the only change being your hand scraped along the floor to try and slow your momentum, your palm burning slightly from the sensation. 

Your hair becomes a loose mess now, as you'd worked a light sweat and all of the movements had the messily tied ribbon fall to the ground in the flurry of your movements, dark bangs sticking lightly to your cheeks as you push it back with a flick of your hair as you charge forwards, not breaking the overall flow of your movements. Not once did your movements become janky or otherwise break stride, even when Ashwari would change gears or stop on the spot in order to throw you off before changing whether he's leading or attacking, you simply changed without breaking pace, like water running through a rocky stream.

And then, the _jumps,_ there's a frantic springiness in your bones that has you moving lightfootedly and like a leaf on the breeze - and it becomes apparent, at least to Sahtar, that you were showing off a fair bit. Though, he's not sure if you're doing it entirely to make Ashwari feel like you're not holding back, or if it's for the benefit of the judgemental cadet trainer. Dodges become jumps, and springy, daring movements that finish by breaking the man's root - his firm stances that all of his power-based blows stem from, by lunging forwards after a long ream of artful blocking and weaving. 

It comes out of nowhere for most of the non-Vazirans, but you managed to get a foot on his knee when he brings a leg out, and actually manage to soar over his body, hands making contact with both of his shoulder blades in a momentary handstand, as you swing yourself through the air in a sort of cartwheel where you land neatly on both feet behind Ashwari, turning with equal speed and quickly gaining an off-guard advantage as a result.

Erwin feels something tighten in his lower gut as he watches, because he is very impressed, but guiltily, his mind just hangs on the word _flexible_ and he does nothing but try to force his intrusive, passive lechery to the back of his mind where it belonged.

"Tch, now she's showing off," Sahtar grumbled, before looking apologetically at the commander, who doesn't even bat an eyelash. All of them had to train in hand to hand in the style of the People's Army of Vazira, and most of them found their niche and would hone in on that. Yours had always been on the far more acrobatic and nimble side, when you quickly realised that as tall and as physically strong as you are, you needed to be _more_ in order to be able to withstand the environment you were in. Strength training was key, but with the kind of upbringing you had, you were in a unique sort of position to have the kind of physically trained body that could take small, frantic bursts of oxygen and deal with significantly more extreme conditions that would put you at a disadvantage, far, far better than most. It seemed to translate to an overall more acrobatic manner of fighting, which, well - it explained why for all the training exercises you led, a majority of them besides the stamina building activities were based entirely on stretching and bending the body. Much of your dodges were no longer swift strafes, but more impressive bending of your spine, large, airy jumps and twirls through the air that demonstrated _so very much_ of your power was in your legs and forearms.

At first, Shadis thought you were being lazy and an armchair commander, who didn't train with their men upon getting themselves a position which they may or may not deserve.

In this moment, he finds himself proven utterly wrong, and cannot help but grimace when you end the fight with an impressive, jumping leg-drop that lands squarely on Ashwari's stomach.

_That looked like it hurt._

"Okay, okay, enough of this now," Sahtar uses this moment to quickly call time on the fight, the last thing he needs is you cartwheeling all over the place and exhausting Ashwari to the point of even more frustration, his movements had gained a small amount of tiredness to them now, just from the amount of stamina you had demonstrated, and if you were going for the exhaustion method, the Commander might lose patience. 

It's now, however, that Sahtar realises Erwin's eyes haven't left you once. They follow you right the way over to the Wagners, and he appeared quite calculating as he watched you push the side of your face against Ashwari's a little while after, clapping him hard on the back and saying something in Vaziri to him that he knows for a fact, Erwin doesn't understand, but the curiosity must be there - no matter how nonplussed he looks.

"That probably looked quite angry, but she was just helping him get some of his aggression out. He's been a bit moody since we got here," he says, sounding almost bored by the entire event. "-I'm sure you're more than aware, but leaders have to bare the burden of their soldiers when they think your decisions are poor, or that you could have done better to make sure your men stay alive," Sahtar is surprisingly open with it all, but it's only because he was aware Levi had been present the last time this matter was directly addressed by the Dame Legate in the trainee barracks. "Ashwari's had a stick up his ass since we got here, believe me this is normal. We'll fight on occasion, end it with a beer - and that's that," he adds casually.

Huh. There was something very real and very unconventional about a commander rolling around in the dirt, letting their subordinates physically fight them just to work through their issues, but it was just another thing that made them entrancingly different. 

The Eldians cannot deny it either, it did speak volumes of their military ability, after all, how devastating does a place have to be, to churn out fighters quite so brutal?

Commander Erwin fully intends on finding out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A/N: Kind of a mini weak feeling chapter, sorry? Next chapter will be longer, I want to update both days, today and tomorrow if possible, splitting it feels the best way to do that, and I wanted to gauge how y'all like Erwin coping with all of his....complicated feelings ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) . I'm wary about how I go, also next chapter will have the socially distressing/tragic content and stuff so heyho. I wanted to cut off before then so I could warn y'all. Anyway, please review if you liked this mess and let me know how I'm doing with Commander Handsome... As for the fighting style described here, I guess I was picking up on the Wushu style the Dornish from Game of Thrones used. I was kind of going for Mountain vs Viper vibes, but tbf, the chapter wasn't really meant to exemplify the fight skills as much as set the reactions out.... and develop more character things. Dame Legate's a shameless, brazen flirt lol.))


	7. Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW TW TW all the trauma triggers from this point on, okay? Everything bad in the world, consider your TW for that HERE. From this point on, exploring the story of the Vaziran peoples gets darker - the Legate gets darker. This romance fic is a hurt/comfort as much as it is wish fulfilment and me working through.... some...shitty things. I just don't want you hurt in the process so if that bothers you, kindly turn back.

_Chapter Seven_

**Ashes**

The Wagner girl bounds over, yelling quite happily and armed with a large bottle of water. It was one of the many from the large cases that would get passed around and quickly drained over training, especially as a light heat began to settle over the island. Sahtar calls for your attention, but you just wave him off without turning around.

“I knew you could do it, you had me worried at the start but you were amazing - I’ve never seen anyone move like that without ODM-- ah - uhm, here! You must be parched!” Irma thrusts the large, litre water bottle at you and you smile at her gratefully. With a small grimace you look down and notice that the borrowed clothes had struggled through the physically demanding battle, and wasn’t really fit for tall, thicker, female proportions and was pulled tautly in places as it was. A few of the buttons had popped loose near the neck, and overall the top and bottoms felt like they were sticking uncomfortably to your joints. Whilst you’re unnaturally quick to catch your breath, you had indisputably broken a sweat, which is no surprise.

“Of course I won, I had the faith of a cute girl on my side, how would I lose?” you responded easily with a teasing grin, which had her flushing brightly.

Without a second thought, you unpin your Legate’s medal and jam it into the waistband of the trousers which had split - mercifully down the back of your thigh and not any higher, but still. All of those acrobatics did little for the already struggling materials, so you make quick work of unbuttoning the rest of the shirt and peeling it away from your torso. Considering most of the Vaziran men had removed theirs at some point during training just as a matter of course, and they’re all used to their Legates, none of them are particularly reactive. Even Sahtar doesn’t seem particularly bothered, though the noise that leaves Irma and some of the cadets is somewhat ungainly, it’s the young woman whose eyes go impossibly wide, and nervously skitter from place to place on your body.

You drain a good half of the bottle and grimace at the feel of sweat in your hair which was sticking to your neck and back, and instead let the cool water pour down your form. Ryka had done it enough times (to the wistful sighs of some of the watching female cadets) - that you didn’t really think much of it. Irma, however, is standing nervously and unable to blink, staring at your back before she realises that Sahtar, and two of her superiors had made their way over. Water drips down your hair, neck, chest and abdominal and flexing back muscles, soaking a little bit of the already heavily faded and bloodily discoloured bustier that looked like it had seen far better days. Fingers twist and mess in your hair, relishing in the wetness that travels down every crevice and every indent of your thick, traditional blackened grooves pressed into your skin and the muscle lines that were extremely defined.

Levi glances at Erwin, who, to his credit, doesn’t look phased - but his line of sight is travelling down the woman’s front, and quickly. He’s not the only one though - because quickly Levi sees why, and notices the severe reaction of the female cadet whose stood directly behind the Dame Legate, her face slightly drained of colour. It’s such an intense reaction that she doesn’t even salute the Commander and Captain - and hadn’t even acknowledged them, in fact. Levi’s eyes follow Erwin’s, if only because he didn’t quite expect the same sort of scarification that the men had been proudly displaying whilst fighting and training. The men seemed to have large, black, raised lines of jagged, tribal marks that gave a grooved texture to the flesh of their backs - which Amir had called their _tiger marks_ when a cadet worked up the courage to ask.

Yours, however, are on the front, and directly beneath the bustier and over the hard lines of a set of firm, abdominal stomach muscles that were forming a solid six-pack of strength that - even still, had black, tribal, tiger markings all the way down to your abdomen, until they disappeared into your waistband.

“A-Are you… okay?” Irma squeaks out softly, and you only half-turn, glancing at her before you greet the men.

“Hm…?” confusion on your features, until looked over your own shoulder and realisation visibly set in, but you just smile at her in what you hoped was a reassuring manner, flicking your now wet bangs back out of your face. If anything, your expression, utterly evocative and obvious, shifts into the kindliest one you could muster.

“Y-your… body? A-are you…hurt? What--” you could see the question on her lips and, far too quickly and abruptly than you’d been with the Wagner girl, you curtly respond and cut her off without really meaning to.

“I’m fine,” hearing your own suddenly less sweet tone in your ears, you quickly adjust it whilst resisting the urge to grimace. “Just battle scars, don’t get worrying about me cute stuff, not after I fought so hard to see you smile,” you stick out your bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, but Irma is holding up a trembling finger, pointing hesitantly at your back with impossibly wide eyes, like she half wanted to reach out and touch you, but was equal parts too apprehensive and cautious to do so.

“What - wha - what _happened?_ ” her question came out like a strangled gasp, and you realise she hasn’t blinked once since you took off your shirt, and you just shake your head with a small, exasperated smile that was becoming more strained as each second passed.

“Battles,” you wave her off airily, repeating yourself and then doing your best to play off the Eldian’s glassy-eyed shock. It would ordinarily be impolite, but, just from the young woman’s response and the fact that the first thing she blurted out was concern and not immediate disgust, you soften your reaction considerably with that in mind. “Sit on my lap some time, I’ll tell ya all about it,” you wink. Erwin doesn't react to this, and hadn't reacted to any of the visible flirting thus far, but he supposes this could also contribute to Levi's general skepticism about how you talk to him, and the level of honesty in your dialogue, if you seem to go out of your way to try to charm _everyone._

This seems to jog Irma out of her dazed state, and have her blush from neck to forehead as her eyes finally land on the patiently waiting Vice Legate, Commander, and vaguely curious Levi, who has resisted the urge to make a comment about decency laws because he’s at a loss of what to say. Thankfully, Irma’s startled realisation that the Commander, Captain and Vice Legate were present made her quickly scramble to do a salute and try not to melt on the spot from the presence of her superiors when she was being very obviously flirted with.

“C-Commander! Captain-- Sorry! I didn’t - I didn’t realise,” she stands to full attention, but she’s still visibly embarrassed and, surprisingly, it is the Vice Legate who comes to her rescue with a merciful little chuckle that seems to break the strange tension that had settled over the group.

“Senset, leave the poor creature alone, can’t you see you’re embarrassing her? Excuse us young miss, we need to borrow her,” - and just like that, Irma lets out a sigh of relief and practically bolts away as soon as she’s given a window of dismissal. You frown at her retreating form but are practically wringing out the white shirt, and hold it so it’s behind your neck and under your hair with a towel, with a confident push of your hips, you just grin at the three men casually.

“Spoilsports, I almost won her heart!” you sigh with a melodramatic flourish that has Sahtar rolling his eyes a second time. The other two men - though subtle, have their eyes tracing over the defined muscles and markings, and upper forearms that have what looks like developing bruises from the sparring match. They’re quite faint on your complexion, but would surely become darker over time and reveal just how much of a beating that Ashwari had manage to lay down even while you were blocking.

Erwin feels his chest constrict for a moment, though he maintains an unmoved veneer on the outside, he has to wonder, just for a moment, if God exists and is laughing at him. He didn’t doubt his ability to deal with you unfalteringly even after his little nightly fantasy, but what he didn’t expect was for you to unbutton yourself and soak through a miserable excuse for a bustier and carry on talking to them like you were remarking on the God-be-damned _weather._ It was like something heard his perverted desire to look under your sleepwear and fate was currently rubbing it in his face _._ Now, Erwin is a collected man, and he doesn’t do much more than raise an eyebrow when your eyes lock and he realises that you were staring intently at his face, fully aware of where his eyes had roved, though not particularly offended by this. You give out a wonky smile, eyes flitting to Levi now, who you can practically see have the gears turning behind his eyes, brows drawn into a natural frown.

“Ah, shit. Pardon my tits,” you blurt out suddenly, when you acknowledge some of the looks - not because you’re particularly apologetic, but rather as an afterthought, as though just remembering how precious the Eldian people are about all this sort of thing. From your tone, it’s easy to tell you’ve only just acknowledged that a lack of modesty, but your casual reply denotes just how much you don’t seem to care that you were dripping down your bustier. “I just need some fuckin’ clothes that fit, look at this shit, honestly - this is why I was avoiding sparring, you know how much I slide about.” You gesture to the rip on your lower thigh and grimace.

Sahtar, on the other hand, resists the urge to start massaging his temples.

“We….will make sure you have clothes that fit before you go to the interior,” Erwin breaks the silence, and clears his throat a bit, refusing to acknowledge _pardon my tits_ and just giving you an even look, whilst Levi raises a brow at you.

“They’ve set a date, I just wanted to go over some things we need to do before then,” he explained, doing an admirable job of looking you in the eyes, all things considered.

“Got it,” You tilt your head, tugging the quasi-towel you had turned the shirt into against your neck in a sea-sawing motion. “-Any chance I can grab a shower before then? I worked up a sweat,” though, with the soft drips of the water trailing down your dark, exposed skin, it was hard to tell what was sweat and what was your impromptu soak down. 

“You can use the officer’s washroom, it’s on the way to my office,” Erwin says, with a small frown, like he was stating the obvious. You blink at him slowly, and it sets in on him now that, as he’d assigned Levi’s squad to watch out for you, none of them probably knew where it was and likely never showed you, and thus, you were probably using the communal services that turned much too cold much too quickly. In fact, perhaps the only perk of being an officer or someone of higher ranking was the guarantee of far less cold washes.

“Ah, of course, you wouldn’t know where that is, none of your guards would know. We’ll walk and talk. Captain, are you coming?” Erwin turns to Levi, and this surprises him. He narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly. While he is undoubtedly curious, he’ll be made privy if Erwin feels the need to make him so. Right now, admittedly, a lot of what the Commander was doing was far above even Levi’s head in terms of ranking. As soon as something is in the hands of people like him, and Premier Zachary, that’s enough for Levi to get the hint that it’s above his rank.

Levi knows why he’s asking, because his answer is either a yes or no to a simple question of _do you trust me?_

Commander Erwin might be the only man he does trust, so he just jerks his head negatively, though he does cast his eyes over you once, and then summarily dismisses himself - hoping his trust isn’t misplaced. He's given his warning, the rest was up to the older man, really - that's not to say he isn't keep a watchful eye, though. Just, from a distance.

“Vice Legate, you’re free to join us also,” Erwin extends the invite to Sahtar, who just glances back at the men, who continue to train, and shakes his head.

“Senset can fill me in later. I mean no offence, but politics bores me shitless,” and with that, he leaves - making you call out for him impatiently.

“Hey! What happened to supporting ya leader?” a faint whine in your tone that is nothing but playful, and has Sahtar scoffing as he turns back to the training grounds.

“Piss on that, you just want me to do all the writing. You go do the pencil pushing,” he smirks, which makes you do a series of rather crude hand gestures at him, which he ignores by turning his back. You grimace visibly, and let it lapse into a pout, looking squarely up at Commander Erwin, looking considerably put out by the lack of support from Sahtar.

“We have to write back, don’t we? I mean, I’m not looking forward to writing back home, let alone whoever your contact in the interior is,” you said with a little frown. “I usually just dictate and let Sahtar do all that,” - you explain. This does make him curious, but he sets it aside for the moment being.

“Lets get you washed up and then we’ll discuss it in my office,” Erwin replied, with a remarkable amount of coolness considering the fact you’re dripping and largely exposed from the waist up.

He’d be lying if he said it wouldn’t be seared into his eyelids tonight, though.

The pair of you begin walking away from the training grounds in lock step while you drain what’s left of the water bottle and ignore some of the curious stares that flit to the pair of you from resting soldiers, and just flash some of them a quick grin - and the few who meet eyes with you have the decency to quickly glance away for most the part. Shit. It’s like half of them didn’t know where to look, even though you consider yourself more covered than you could be, all things considered. It’s not like the bustier was transparent, it was just beat up and mostly being held up by battered under wire and hope.

“There are aspects to your culture that are strange to us,” Erwin says, when you get back to the officer’s dormitories. “-so please be patient with my soldiers,” he adds “-I apologise for any rudeness you might have experienced.”

He’s referencing Miss Wagner, and perhaps some of the stares, but you just wave it off, completely unphased. It’s small and trivial compared to the sort of issues you had dealt with back in your homeland, so the gormless staring didn’t bother you terribly much. In fact, it was more that you’re just used to stripping off when needed and all of your men, at some point, had seen you naked - and vice versa, which tends to happen when you’re slumming in unlivable conditions for weeks on end in the name of a deployment. That, and you had an admittedly unique past, one that you ordinarily put off from sharing - not because you’re ashamed, but because it’s a lot to put on anybody’s shoulders, and the truth is - you spent a long time accepting it. Sometimes, though, it’s almost impossible for others to do so, so you stopped talking about it.

“It’s fine, you’re fine, I’ve had worse,” you said with an idle snort. Erwin stops short of the washroom, and gestures to the door with his hand. 

“I’ve had some things brought for you sent to your room, so we can use my quarters, if you prefer,” because, he’s narrowly aware, you don’t know where his primary office is, and he doesn’t want to send someone for you and have you traverse different ends of the dormitories when you could just easily walk next door to his room.

That, and your bedroom had been the place where your private promise to tell him everything had happened was. It felt only right to continue on with the same sort of intimacy, and not the clinical setting of his office. Considering none of the others - Sahtar or Levi, had deigned to join him, he finds himself giving in to his urges to have you _closer,_ and this is the perfect way how. A bedroom is a private space, and if he can just ignore the little act of lecherous fantasy he’d had in his bed, there was no reason not to keep things practical and have the discussion there.

“Inviting me to your bedroom now? Aren’t I the lucky one,” you replied, a glitter of mischief in your eyes that tells the older man you’re not particularly serious, but it does make him wonder if he’s doing the right thing by trying to bridge his emotional divide and pull you in when he’s fairly certain most of his attraction is physical. Physical, and in part, him superimposing his feelings for the outside world on you. Right now, he has no reason to think that you return much of them, because you talk to him as flirtatiously as you talk to _everyone._

If he can keep a level head while you flaunt yourself in his bedroom, he’s certain he can keep on going without faltering, and not give into his baser urges. But he knows that part of his control is failing him regardless, because the reasoning for not using his main office is flimsy, but he desperately wants to recreate the intimate moment of the nights previous.

“It’s less of a walk from your room than my main office, and we’re less likely to be interrupted,” Erwin replied, but didn’t react to your suggestive words. Mostly because he isn’t sure how, he’s always been one to take jokes - even ones at his expense, with the same stoicism he approaches everything. Even though part of him wants desperately to have your playful flirtations be more realistic, he knows it could be a logistical nightmare if the alliance were to somehow fall through. He knows you’re not looking at him _like that,_ and all it is is passing lechery for a beautiful girl - a beautiful, exotic girl who represents everything he’s ever wanted to experience and touc--

_Calm down -_ he tells himself, his cool, blue stare landing squarely on your face, his expression - completely unreadable. He walks you to the washroom and then gestures to the quickest stairway back to the bedroom quarters, and says he'll be waiting. You just nod gratefully, and walk ahead of him a bit. Your hand reaches for the doorknob and you feel Erwin's stare settle on your back, and, despite not looking at him, you can feel the easy air turn absolutely still, as though somebody had drained all of the atmosphere from the room and left the pair of you in the vacuum of space. 

"Fine with me, I'll be quick - alright?" you reply, but Erwin doesn't respond, he's just quiet, and you resist the urge to turn around and look him in the eye.

In this moment, Erwin sees what had caused such a visceral reaction from the Wagner girl - and his vaguely lust-clouded thoughts had suddenly dashed into clarity, as though he'd just had a bucket of icy water thrown over his body that jarred him further away from his fantasy.

_'What happened...?'_

"Take as long as you need," he's surprised his own words don't come out in a soft, strangled gasp just the same as the Wagner girl. You just look over your shoulder, give him a half smile, and walk into the washroom without a word - when your eyes met, the unspoken words registered with the both of you in that moment.

_We'll talk._

* * *

Left with his thoughts in his bedroom, sitting at his work desk with the letter from the interior laid out crisply on it, alongside some books and some stationary, the Commander finds himself reeling. His deafening curiosity to see what you looked like beneath your clothes had been answered at least somewhat, but in fate's rather twisted way - it wasn't in any of the intimate manner he'd previously fantasised about the night prior. It's not as though he finds himself particularly put off, because in truth, he isn't, the tiger markings are, in a sense, strangely alluring. They're intoxicating in their strangeness and difference to the supple, smooth skin that most women would strive to have, they gave off an air of something ritualistic and mysterious, that raised a deep curiousness inside of him that was unlike his previous lechery. That said, their location made for a nice sight, directly originating in your underbust and then traversing down your body, he supposes it ends at the bottom of your stomach, because he doesn't remember seeing a hint of them last night, when you'd been naked from the waist down. 

He tries not to think about you naked in the officer's washroom, just a short walk away from him. 

When you eventually emerge, and gingerly knock the door, he calls out "Enter," and sees you shuffle inside, wearing the overlarge Survey Corps cloak that had been left on your bed, folded up neatly along side some loose, larger clothing that he had gotten the Blouse girl to go into town and get. Everybody had been so caught up in the developments and the implications of the Vaziran's presence, that little thought had been put into the practicality of housing the foreign battalion. The men seemed to be coping well enough and had enough to get by, and those that didn't, were washing clothes and trading with each other and getting lent things from some of the larger soldiers, but you? As someone with an officer rank, you didn't really have people offering you the same sort of trade unless you asked for it directly, or brought it up yourself - even though your supplies were the lion's share of what had gotten taken out.

So, without really mentioning it, he reached into his own pocket to take care of it. It's not as though Erwin has many personal expenses, either. Besides the occasional book and some small personal luxuries like a meeting held in a tavern or two, he's not got any real large outgoings, he has no wife, no partner, no children and now, no family. He gets an officer's wage which - is generous but not quite the pay comparatively to those in other regiments, he has no real large property expenditure besides a very small home in Wall Rose, which, compared to his equals, like Pixis, is considered quite modest and he barely touches it. His taxes are typical of most Wall Rose citizens and as a result, he does have some money he can afford to lose, and surprisingly, nobody thinks to question where the supplies come from. Blouse doesn't - it's above her rank anyway, only Levi or Hange might think to ask, but Erwin considers this the cost of doing business.

You come in, hair damp, and wearing a loose fitting, feminine-cut blue jumper under the cloak, that's closer to Erwin's own size, and a pair of rather long beige trousers that had a simple ripcord to tighten them to your hips and are rolled up to your ankles so they don't drag on the floor. Blouse had, apparently, just guessed - and didn't want to take your dirtied, foreign military uniform to a tailor and have them guess your size because she hadn't the chance to find you and ask to take it. It's close enough, though - the girl had a fairly decent eye and sense of judgement, despite how awkward and odd she seemed.

"Take a seat," Erwin pauses, and takes out the cups used the previous night, only this time, there's a steaming teakettle amidst the stationary. "Tea?" - he offers, and you take it, and though you're not a huge fan of it, just the mere act of having something in your hand, even a non-alcoholic drink, seems to lessen the heaviness that had settled in the air since you entered. 

When you came into the room, you saw the sunlight streaming in from his open curtains and hitting the back of his head and half on the neatly splayed paperwork on his desk, creating a somewhat more formal environment than the last time you'd sat at this very desk, and shared a nightcap with the man. Admittedly, in the morning light, he manages to look somewhat radiant and it caught you briefly off guard when you had come in and saw him scanning the letter on his desk intently, blissfully oblivious to the gentle and welcoming atmosphere he had presented.

Erwin calmly pours you a cup of a strange, mysteriously sweet black tea, that admittedly - isn't horrible. You pick it up and take a large sip, looking over the cup with a curious look at the letter on the desk that his eyes are affixed to. 

"So, they set a date for you to visit the interior. They had to schedule something with the Military Police to ensure your safe arrival into the inner walls, the rest of it is a risk review from the security counsel as well as a few things about the summit at the Queen's Court," he moves to pass you the sheet of paper "-Give it a read - and we'll see what we need to do to prepare."

You slurp a bit more of the tea, as though that would cover some of your discomfort, and then set the now-empty cup, shifting a little bit in the wooden chair. You look at the letter, and quietly scrutinise it, but feel your ears heating up just a bit. You're not one to be easily embarrassed, but you cannot help the small creeping sensation of it spider up your neck when the blond passes you the letter. If you were going to try and read it, it was going to take a while, and not because the handwriting is bad, but because your literacy left something to be desired.

This is why you preferred Sahtar do these things, and when it felt like the silence of you staring at the letter was just a little bit too long for you to let it pass without you fully absorbing it, you look up into Erwin's eyes, the faint embarrassment now a little more prominent.

"I can't read very well," you blurted out, before cringing "-could you... could you just, uh, read it to me? This is why I make Sahtar do this stuff, I uh - I only really got kind of literate for the army," you scratched the back of your neck compulsively, and look anywhere but the man's eyes - his desk and room is stacked with books, and this probably lowered his opinion of you, you wagered. The last thing you wanted to do was give off the opinion that your nation was an uneducated one, so you made a point to mention Sahtar and his role in these sorts of things, but still, you feel yourself start to flush darkly and cannot bring yourself to quite look at him.

"That's quite alright," Erwin's voice takes on a naturally soothing bent, because he picks up on the embarrassment, but he's careful not to patronise. When you look at him, you can see the small hint of a smile on his face and a kindness reflected in his eyes, just the way they had when he had gently informed you of the military regiments and just whom you'd be meeting prior to Premier Zachary and Commander Pixis's arrival. He just files away this little tidbit of knowledge about you in the back of his mind and carries on undeterred, and doesn't push the matter in a way that would put another layer of separation between you two.

"You're sitting here talking to me in your _second language,_ I'm in no space to mock you, nor would I. I'll read it, and if you wish, you can take hold of it after and go over it with your men, it's no bother," somehow, he seemed to know just what to say, because your shoulders untense and you look at him with surprise and visible relief.

"Thank you," - and much of the meeting continues on like that.

The Military Police will accompany you and your men to Wall Sina.

You'll be housed in a heavily guarded inn which will be preemptively cleared for the night.

The Survey Corps are assisting in their capacity as the responsible party for your entry to the city because it's their brains - namely Hange, who is responsible for gauging your usefulness and the efficacy of the anti-titan artillery you have brought to their land. Further, they expect a full, written report agreed upon by the Erwin and Pixis - regarding the efficacy of the weapon, and a preliminary report from the Engineering Corps about what would be required for further production and overall practical implications of attempting to rearm and recreate the devices, as well as more detail as to how much Vazira might be willing to disclose and cooperate regarding sharing scientific information. 

So far, it's all preliminary stuff, the rest of the letter boiled down to a risk assessment document, which you tune out a little bit since it seemed to be largely for the benefit of the Eldians who had to support your presence, rather than anything you or your men had to do.

And then, you would meet the Queen. Briefly, of course, but Historia Reiss insists upon it - as she should, being that you're acting as a kind of foreign ambassador.

"After the meeting at court, we'll work together on corresponding with Vazira," said Erwin, before flashing you with a surprisingly genuine smile - the movement from the interior and how seriously they're taking it, along with the rather generous language used - i.e a lack of certain words such as _custody_ and _detainment_ meant that they'd be going into Wall Sina through somewhat open arms, which is a better start than he could ask for, considering how intimidating a foreign presence like theirs could seem on the surface.

"Okay," you replied, letting a silence fall between you as you sat there with a thoughtful frown - you weren't a huge fan of royalty, to be honest. You'd said _fuck the king_ more times than you'd care to count - but, maybe this queen was different, after all, the Eldians did depose a former ruler just to get her on the throne - hopefully it was for the better.

And then, he jumps head first to what he's truly been thinking about.

"Now that the business is taken care of - please, join me?" this jars you out of your thoughts and breaks the oddly comfortable silence. You look up at him, initially confused, but see that he's standing to full height and has offered a hand out for you to hold and pull you up. He thought about it for all of a moment, really - and gestured to his bed. 

Your mind freezes, and Erwin is surprisingly calm about it all. In his mind, he justifies it by wanting to replicate the night previous. He carefully ignores the strange sensation of inviting a woman to sit on his bed without any expectation when only hours previous, he'd been rubbing himself shamefully over the very same person. In typical fashion, he compartmentalises it somewhere else, and just gives you his best approximation of his usual unfaltering stoicism - but the truth is, the Commander knows he's losing to himself because if he had as much self control over the situation as he thought he did, this conversation would be happening in his main office and not his bedroom. 

"You'll dry off quicker by the window," ah, that seems to diffuse the intimate tension that had formed after his words, like loosening the knot in a balloon - as Erwin had a much larger window overlooking his bed that didn't have a canopy of trees obscuring the beams of sun that were partially cast over the small desk space you'd both been using. You weren't sure why your mind had jumped so quickly to thinking the man might be reciprocating your overly flirtatious and crude nature, he seems far too buttoned up for all that. It's a little dismaying, because, as you'd previously acknowledged, Commander Erwin is very easy on the eyes. 

"Alright," you said with a small smile.

The fact he'd been somewhat kind, and open, had gone a long way too - his disclosures the night previous had gone a long way to helping you understand the sort of place Paradis was, and what it might have been like to try and navigate that difficult, secretive, discreetly pressurised environment that was walled off from all outside assistance. It was difficult not to let your mind stray to the commander and his words, not just because he's handsome - but because his words had stirred up something deep and uncomfortable inside of you that had reared its head briefly last night and had you aching for the childhood of a would-be stranger.

Shit. For all of the devastating brutality you had, you were equal parts emotive, and delicate, constantly swimming between camaraderie and fierceness to try and strike the delicate balance you had at the helm of this battalion of yours. The Commander is quickly coming to realise that, unlike most emotionally distant, clinical tacticians in your position of power, you did not wall off your emotions or your investment in your countrymen. You didn't become an unfeeling decision maker, instead you felt everything - viciously and extremely.

You take Erwin's hand, and let him guide you to the bed - with an air of chastity that you didn't quite expect. The older man is surprisingly delicate with your hand and holds it almost limply to the bed, looking seemingly unphased by it all, but insides turn and he scolds himself internally. He hasn't done anything wrong but he knows how much he's losing the fight with his own control, logically, he had concluded everything he feels is largely physical and in many parts, it is, but he'd also concluded that he couldn't afford to entangle himself like this. And yet, he finds reasons to bring you to his bedroom, and more to get you on the bed. 

He dismisses his unwelcome, intrusive thoughts and the strange feeling he has, inviting you to sit in the bed that he'd not so long ago explored his raunchy thoughts about you, turning thoughts of you into selfish fantasy that he tried to make feel as realistic as possible when his hands were in his trousers. No one had to know. It didn't have to matter.

He wanted to replicate the night in your room. That's all.

_That's all._

He tells himself, because he spent days yearning to pick your brain and the best way as to embrace your over-familiar nature - _something for something,_ that is how this works. The atmosphere between you whenever you lock eyes with one another is practically seismic, but neither of you ever acknowledges it, both of you metaphorically circling the drain until you'd clash together in these quiet, secluded moments. Every touch felt like it lingered, and just like the night he'd walked you to his door after your nightcap, your smaller hand is folded into his even after the pair of you sit beside each other on the bed. 

"I'll try not to drip on the bed," you said wryly, vaguely aware your hand is still clasped in his and is the only thing between your bodies as you sat side by side - if it was supposed to feel awkward, it doesn't.

"Don't worry about it," is the automatic response, but the break in the brief quiet gives all the man needs to start talking and change the subject away from the interior. Not one for mincing words, or beating around a subject unnecessarily, he just looks at you, eyes tracing over each of your features like he's trying to gauge your true self, somehow, just by what he can glean from the outside. "Now all that's out of the way for the moment being, I just wanted to thank you for what you did a few nights ago," - he watches your face for your reaction, but all he sees is confusion.

All you'd done is keep him from his bed.

"What you said - about what happened to my father," _about what I did._ This statement should have dropped the casually intimate atmosphere to the same thick, heavy, vaguely sorrowful one of the night in your room but doesn't, where the Commander struggled to navigate between his own heady distraction and then abject bemusement at the comfort levied his way. Erwin doesn't obfuscate his words though, he's thankful, because ultimately it was a nice - if confusing, feeling that had refused to relent until he acknowledged it and just uttering a thank you for it seemed to almost lighten the years long burden he had carried, even if the difference was almost imperceptible. It felt like a small, scattered fragment of something, that had slipped from his fingers a long time ago had been brought back and placed in his palms. Now it's not like he can glue it all together, this metaphorical shattering of his young, long since lost innocence, but being able to hold all of those parts of him again and feel a little bit _forgivable,_ despite growing into the kind of man with a body count that isn't, it's....nice. Conflicting, confusing, but _nice._ Erwin isn't sure if he deserves _nice,_ but he doesn't want to fight it. He fights all the time, in every spare moment, it's his entire life, this is one thing he _doesn't_ want to fight. Much like when he was left alone with his sordid thoughts, he wants to roll over onto his back and just _give in._

And saying thank you is the best way he can think of to bring back the conversation and intimacy of what had happened in your bedroom. Just like that night, all trace of a smile had vanished from your features and your brows were drawn into a gentle frown - but in this moment, he remembers his hand is still in yours when he feels the flat of your thumb rubbing a soothing, and far too intimate circular pattern in the centre of his palm. There's a respectable, clinical gap between your bodies, and despite being sat on his bed, with both your clothes - sans the palm lock - there's nothing strictly _inappropriate_ happening, but the Commander can feel himself slipping now, fighting the urge to glance at his hand in case you stopped because _God, why is this so nice?_

"Oh, that?" you replied, your eyes widening in surprise.

There is something to be said about the openness you had, while you swam between roughness and brazen flirting, there is something absolutely _human_ and touchable about you. You do not possess the unreachable veneer of high ranking members of the military, you're real like grit, in a pure, salt of the Earth kind of way, wrapped up in a blasé devil-may-care attitude. If he had the closeness you had with your men, he's certain, without a doubt in fact, that you'd be doing much the same as you had with Ashwari, and be far more close than you are now. 

The way you look at him though, those unreadable blue eyes of his - you're searching desperately for any kind of reaction.

"What?" your lips curved into an expression of slight sorrow and visible distaste, not for Erwin, but rather, the situation - which quickly becomes apparent. "You mean, nobody has said that to you before? How terrible," the same disapproving cluck in the back of your throat as the last time, as you berate the ghosts of the past with a few choice words that - whilst he doesn't speak Vaziri - he can tell from the traces of venom in your tone is likely nothing pleasant. 

There was something _out of body_ about someone, a stranger, a foreigner no less, being so scandalised on his behalf. The only other barely-a-handful of times he'd told this story, he'd never got such a reaction, because people like Levi and Hange don't feel the need to comfort him. He's their leader, he's impervious to everything, he doesn't _need_ to be comforted.

But maybe he _wanted_ it.

"It's not a story that gets told often. It was a long time ago," Erwin replied "-and plenty of people comforted me about my father's accident, but that would often make it worse," _because I knew it wasn't and it was my fault._

"Because it wasn't an accident," you said. Your voice taking on a slightly firmer tone, less of a lightly scandalised one and more of a confidently insistent one, that had remnants of a bitterness that the Commander couldn't quite make sense of at first, the intensity of your eyes distracted him, but after a moment, he can sense that you're not just talking about him anymore.

"You were a baby who didn't know any better, and our innocence as children deserves to be shielded, and shed when we're ready, not stolen from us," he feels the intensity of those hearthfire eyes and all of the words dry up in his throat for a moment, because all he can think about is the circular motion of your thumb and the unwavering stare deep into the recesses of his soul.

_Stolen from us?_

**_Us._ **

_Who took yours?_

A disjointed thought hits and parses through the blur of his briefly mindless state of what he can only describe as comfort.

"Children deserve to be doted on," you all but spat - your tone becoming briefly twisted and bitter the way that it had when you had first described your foray to their island as pure suicide, and pull your eyes away from his - not before he sees a flash of something intense across your features when there's a slight wince and you close your eyes with a heavy sort of squeeze, like you're trying to push something out of your vision that he just cannot see.

When you open them again, your softness returns when you look back over at him, a little apologetically for your sudden intensity.

"Sorry," your lips pursed briefly "-I suppose I had some sort of idea that perhaps a place so insulated and separate from everything, devils or not, might be free of some of the terrible things that go in in the world," - you let out a short sigh, and look away from him now, he's much too unreadable, but he hasn't yanked his hand away from yours so you consider it a small win.

"But I suppose everywhere hurts little babies, in some way."

This statement - Erwin isn't sure why but it gave him a sour, embittered taste in his mouth. Maybe it was the way you said it, so grim and accepting - but it feels awful, equal to the thousands of death cries he's heard over his tenure as a soldier. Even when you flick your damp hair back a little and try to resurrect the ghost of a smile, that he knows is for his sake, to try and diffuse the slip of seriousness you had given only to him, he knows now that this is one of those times where you're dishonest in your expression if only for the sake of others.

"World's kinda shitty wherever ya go, huh?" you said, rhetorically, trying to drain the tension from the room as you glanced up aimlessly, like you were searching for an answer anywhere but here.

He feels his hand being squeezed, but right now, he's not sure if that's for him or just something you're doing subconsciously.

The Commander wants to find the words, the right ones - he's usually so good at that, but he can't - he's at a loss - he knows he needs to say something, anything. But it's true. He can't lie and say you're wrong. He gathered that even your home wasn't a utopia, and Sahtar had stated it bluntly in those exact words also, not so long ago.

"I wouldn't know," he leads with that, and it's an unintentional, gentle reminder of the promise you'd made not long ago.

To open up.

To talk about it.

The fact is though, Erwin hasn't left Paradis, nobody has in years upon years, his statement is as factual as it is tinged with a sort of yearning and moroseness.

"Of course you wouldn't," you replied, much the same as you had when you stated his child self would not have known better than to leak his father's punishable thoughts. "-but maybe you should. I admit, I feel kind of...fucking weird, this idea of our countries making an alliance, when, to be honest, you don't have a frame of reference for the rest of the fucking world. We can only present as we are, and hope you can take the good with the bad, and welcome us warmly."

"But," you shifted a bit, and feel a little conflicted. On one hand, you love Vazira, you adore your roots, everything about home made you the kind of person you were, either because of the good parts or in spite of the bad ones. You look at this man who had been far more gentle and patient than most people in commanding positions you had met in your time, and ache at the thought of him thinking poorly of your homeland.

But there's good and bad to everything.

"You should know the kind of place you're dealing with, and I did promise, didn't I? That I'd tell you everything you wanted to know," you stopped your gentle ministrations with his hand - much to Erwin's loss, because while he remains nonplussed, part of him yearns for that small touch to continue. "I would just hope you do not think less of me, or my people, because of it. The one's you've met - they're good men. The best men," _my boys._

You pick your nails out of nervous habit, normally your fingers would be dancing around the edge of a flip blade, passing the time and attempting to impress cute people in taverns with idle hand tricks that always made you look busy even when you didn't know what to say.

"I told you that my men didn't join the army willingly, didn't I?" at this, Erwin nods, it's something that had sad uncomfortably with him until he could find the right word - _conscription,_ forced service to your country. It's something which had been mulled over intermittently over the years, but the way you had described it sounded far more foreboding.

"Boys over a certain age are conscripted to serve their country, if you're rich - or noble, or whatever, you can flash any amount of goods and your last name and find a way to get out of it. Rural, simpler sorts, us common don't really stand a chance. My men never did. Ryka was a forgemaster's boy, you know," you said, almost conversationally now, like you weren't about to pull the rug out from under the commander and send his thoughts spiralling into the abyss. The disparity between the rich and the poor - and the amount of favour they can gain from a position they likely did little to earn, well, that was something Erwin understood. Until the bloodless coup, this was an intense reality that had been one he had to grow up in all his life - rich people getting out of conscription doesn't surprise him. 

He thinks he can handle what comes next, with that in mind.

"Sahtar was a hunter for a large meat merchant's business which got a lot of game from my village up in the mountains," - you see the curiosity in his face, and he hangs on this word. Village. _'So you're a village girl?'_ \- it could explain some things, perhaps her vernacular and more uncouth mannerisms, though that's somewhat stereotypical. A mountaineer girl, though? That sort of environment inspires and demands a toughness from birth, if Vaziran villages are anything like some of the more rural places here, probably even tougher, with a persistently hot sun to contend with.

"But women don't join the army, only men are conscripted. Women become part of the services, but not as soldiers, not before the rules changed after I got drafted - and no one tells anyone when the _recruiters_ come," you look anywhere but him, and he feels a creeping sense of unease raising goosebumps - because from the twist and change of your tone, however imperceptible it was, he could tell it was building to something, and the word recruiters was practically hissed between your teeth.

"But, I was a baby. I didn't know - though I'd just had my first blood, I was what, nine years old?" a soft bitterness in your tone, _you didn't know,_ just the way that Erwin had been small, innocent, _and did not know_ the harshness of the world for what it was and what it could, and would do. Erwin doesn't answer the rhetorical question, but when the story starts that far back, so very young, he feels his blood starting to run cold in his veins.

"I wanted to show my mother I was brave," you spat, turning your face away from him.

* * *

_{ Mount Jasmah, Jasmah Village -_

_Southern Vazira,_

_16 Years Ago }_

_The kinds of people that live on Mount Jasmah are a sturdy, robust bunch - their bodies adapt to difficult altitudes, and all the men are made of much harder stuff than those recruited from the mainland. They are slow to hear news, as well - and so, they do not receive word, because nobody wants to ride that sort of uphill battle to try and message them. No messenger birds were to be sent on the matter either, because if warning of the recruitment drive is sent out, it can be viewed as a subversion of the state's wishes, and attempted desertion of duty._

_The men rode in with horses, abandoning their display artillery so that they could traverse the harsh, steep cliffs and peaks. Little boys - freshly turned eleven were taken from their homes, while their parents were being handed small rolls of paper that had their name and length of service emblazoned upon it._

_"No! No please, he's my only son - he's all I've got. Please. I'm begging you."_

_These were typical cries, but you remembered them all - some of them pierced through every small, ramshackle building with a bloodcurdling screech._

_"No! The record's wrong - he's only 9 -"_

_"Please, please, please, don't you have sons? D-don't take him, he's damnably simple he won't do you a lick of good just leave him here with me. Gods, I'll do anything!"._

_Your mother pulled you inside aggressively, sending the firewood you were holding scattering to the ground. She took a look out of the window and let out a strangled gasp of terror, before quickly smoothing her features to that of someone who was not afraid, and quickly knelt down, scooping you up with all the strength she had and rushing towards the kitchen cabinet and had you hiding in a small little ball, because she knows they'll look in closets, attics and basements when they go on recruitment drives._

_"Listen to me Senset. Stay in here and don't make a sound okay? Be a good girl for Mama, and don't come out until I get you," she breathed out in Vaziri, her eyes frantic even though her face remained calm, ever the perceptive child, you can detect the chill of terror that had overcome the small home._

_"Mama, I'm scared," you whispered, only for her to furrow her brow and give you a soft, reassuring look._

_"Think of it like a game, okay? We're playing hide and seek - but you're hiding from those men from the capital, okay? Stay hidden, let Mama sort it," - she closed the low, kitchen cabinet authoritatively, and turned quickly when she heard the beaten up wooden door get thundered open by the same group of men who had been trawling from home to home._

_There's a lot of arguing - mostly you can hear your mother, but the men are demanding - 'Where is he? Where is your son?' - only for her to stubbornly insist, that no, they have it wrong._

_"I don't have any children, I'm barren. Now leave! I'm a taken woman and having you in my house without my husband is bad enough!" she said crisply "-must you offend the Gods so?" - she tries to leverage the faith she does not particularly follow, but this makes some of the men of more piety glance at each other._

_"No children, huh?" the lead, General Umman, sneers at her openly, and grabs her arm with a force, pulling it up to his body in a sort of hold that she cannot break free of, before yanking down some of her long skirt. This makes your mother scream, calling him depraved - how dare he - after all - and that she is a spoken for woman - but there are tears in the corner of her eyes. You can hear an undercurrent of thick fear in her matriarchal tone that you had never heard leave her mouth in your life. She had always been strong, and indomitable. You push the cabinet door open just a crack, letting light pour in - but are only able to see from the waist down._

_"Looks like you've had some kids to me, woman," he sneers in Eldian, running his fingers over the stretchmarks of her abdomen. You felt a chill overcome you, on the floor are several long, dragging, strange metallic like rectangles that seemed to be connected to a hard, wooden and rubber handle in his fingers. The rectangles glint like steel but they drag on the floor like string - the man wields a fierce whipsword, a devastating hydra of curling blades that, when wielded efficiently, could cut skin like ribbons and was wielded as a whip by only the most sadistic of soldiers. It had long since fallen out of favour, due to its barbarity and inefficiency - as a slashing punishment tool rather than a fast, precise weapon, but General Umman rather favoured it. He adored their destructive results._

_You recognise it, because you've seen one on the walls, gathering dust at the local blacksmiths, but seeing it in the hands of the man who was tormenting your mother made your blood run cold. Every part of you wished for your father to come walking in, but he'd been in the peak of the mountain for days, trying to rescue stray pilgrims, and probably didn't even know what was happening. You tried to smother your screams in your hand, but seeing those fingers moving on your mother's stomach, tracing the stretchmarks made your blood boil in a primal way that you couldn't even understand fully._

_You just felt a hot rage, an indignant 'how dare you do this?' to the proudest woman you'd ever known. You'd come barrelling out of the cabinet, armed only with porcelain plates - because you were much too small to reach the knife counter, and threw it petulantly at General Umman's hardened pauldron - because you couldn't reach his face and your aim was somewhat off. As the plate shatters into so many white pieces, crumbling to the ground, you can see all of the colour draining out of your mother's face. She can't pull her eyes away from you, and was openly crying now, because she realised something that was so, so very lost on you at the time._

_"Get off my Mama!" you screamed, little fists balled up as tightly as you could, you want to start pounding at his legs but even you have enough foresight to think the plate was enough and the last thing you want is for the man to start swinging the whipsword, not until you could find a way to yank it away---_

_"And whose this little creature?" General Umman's voice changes, it goes from an angry yell to a vaguely amused sort of cockiness, you cannot read his dangerous expression for what it truly means, but your mother does, and she screams until another soldier slams his hand over the bottom half of her face to drown out her screams into muffled cries._

_"I see you've been holding out on us," he says, looking at your mother, teasing her before turning back to you, he actually stoops to a knee, to look you in the eyes._

_"I'll stop bullying your Mama if you answer my questions, alright little girl?" - you glance at his whipsword, and whilst you don't trust him at all, you know you're outnumbered, and as much as you want to punch him with everything you have, it's not going to do you any good. You nod quickly - you wanted him to let her go! You wanted to go over and cuddle her and then she'd sort it all out, just like she said she would._

_"Oh, aren't you a good girl?" he crooned "I like that," he added - and you couldn't understand his sudden tone shift, but it was making your mother's skin crawl. "Tell me little girl, have you had your first blood yet?" - you hear your mother's muffled screams intensify, but every time you go to look at her, he moves his body slightly, and his eyes gain a dangerous glint that tells you that you're not supposed to look at her even if she screams bloody murder._

_Something told you that her life depended on it, some sort of primal instinct that you didn't understand or were too young to decode at that age, it was raw and animal, and told you what you needed to do to survive. As naive as little kids are, one thing you do know, is that you're not strong enough to fight them all. Even one of them._

_Your job was to make sure you and your mother survived this game of hide and seek._

_"Yeah!" you said, puffing your chest out and rise to your full unimpressive height to look as grown up as possible, maybe he was asking because that made you grown up? Grown ups only ever really seem to listen to other grown ups, so you hold your fingers to the General's face, looking as defiant and impudent as a child can. "I'm a whole NINE years old, I had my first blood last week, and Mama says that means I'm on my way to being a woman grown!"_

_The smile on General Umman's face is positively ghastly, and even you recognise it as distinctly unkind, your mother is frantically shaking her head as much as she can in the soldier's hands, desperately trying to convey no, that you're wrong, that you're lying, that you're just trying to sound big._

_"You are aren't you!" he leaned in and looked deeply at your eyes, and turned your body around by the shoulders, which made you stiffen all over in discomfort. "You'll make a fine comfort maiden, won't you, you big brave girl! Going off to the army so your Mama doesn't have to. Well done," he purrs, and picks you up suddenly, even when you try to make yourself as slack and as heavy as possible, when the words 'off to the army' sink in - you scream, because while you don't understand the other implications, you do understand that you're being torn away from your parents._

_The last thing you see from your village is your mother collapsing in a puddle of tears. The soldier who held her mouth shut gives her a careless comfort on his way out._

_"Blooded or not, we'd have broken her in eventually. Next time, don't hide from us, or you can be charged with subversion of the state's wishes. Good day, ma'am."_

* * *

There aren't really words to describe the kind of atmosphere your story left in the room, and it isn't even the most terrible one you can tell - there's still how you came to be a serving member, how you came to lead these men, and so much more horror you'd seen in your short life. The words of Sahtar stir around uncomfortably in Erwin's guts, now more loudly and prominent than before.

_She's seen more blood than most men---_

"So you see," you say - far, far too casually for the commander's liking, because his mouth has fallen open ever so slightly and is the only thing betraying the gravity of his reaction. He could barely begin to parse all of that in his mind - this answers a few questions, your back - at the very least, and the lines upon lines of raised slashes that had healed jaggedly or poorly, but it raises even more questions. The words _comfort maiden_ float in the air uncomfortably, and he can make an educated guess what it meant, and he has even less of an idea how you went from that to the woman he sees now, but one look at your face as you'd spoken - and your inability to look him in the eye without having to full away to try and hide the poorly smothered flashes of pain on your features tells him it's real. Shatteringly real. "I joined the services as a comfort maiden. Err - that's a concubine. Whore, or whatever the word is," you said with a wave of your arm as though it wasn't the most horrific thing Commander Erwin had ever heard.

"I would hope ya don't think less of me because of it. You could say us mountain recruits ended up having our own revolt. I told you, didn't I? People didn't like what I did to get power. They like even less where I started from. But the revolt is - argh, that's a whole other story. Maybe better told by Sahtar, he did the lion's share of the rebellion - but --" 

Erwin cuts you off, very, very suddenly. His eyes seeming to be stuck in a slightly widened state to how you're used to seeing them, he turns, and his tone is the softness he had earlier, when you admitted your low literacy, but seemed to have something which - well - it wasn't a tremble, but it was like a small crackle that was barely noticeable to the untrained ear. 

"You don't have to tell me anymore," he says the most selfless thing he's ever said, because he's spent his whole life in he pursuit of answers, but after what you so freely disclosed, it weighs him down like a pair of concrete shoes. Unable to bare what you've said without correction, the usually cool, and calm commander reaches a hand out and hesitates mid-air, just as you'd done not so long ago in your bedroom.

"May I?" he says - and you say yes, quickly, so you can resume talking and getting back to the meat of all the things the man originally wanted to know. You wanted to tell him that you didn't mind, and that it was alright, and you gave him the _right_ to know because he'd been kind to you, his men had rescued yours, and he bore the burden of his father's death and explained himself to you without you asking. 

You wanted to tell him you weren't ashamed, and so you could keep talking, but he halted you gently, and you consent to his touch without thinking about it too much - but blink in surprise when his fingers make their way under your chin, and he tilts your head up to look into his eyes. He wanted you to see - _really see -_ that what he was about to say was emphatically true. He didn't want you to shy away from the intensity of his gaze for fear you'd see judgement on his features, because he needs you to desperately see that there is no judgement there. Just the way you did not judge his child self for his actions.

He feels your face warming in his fingers - even from just your chin.

"Nine year olds can't be whores," he said softly - and the statement hit you like a ton of bricks. Somehow, you didn't expect him to cling to that, but he spoke it like a defined truth, and you knew that, and you had your men as your family and comfort for years, but to be told this from an outsider too - to see that what happened was empirically wrong... it mattered. In a stupid, senseless way, it mattered, and it made all of your words die in your throat when he looked at you with that intensity. It told you that, for however bad some of the worst people you'd ever met had been, this one, was at the very least, better than that.

Erwin didn't know how to pull anyone in after keeping them at arms length his whole life, and now that he wanted to, _needed to,_ he didn't know how. But maybe it was as simple as just doing it.

So he did, only, when his arms snake around your back, they reach right the way around and this time, he pulls you gently in his direction - so that you can either pull back or lean in. On instinct, you lean in, and feel your lightly damp face and hair press into the side of the commander's body.

You fall into a strangely comfortable silence, and bring your own to wrap around his lower waist rather than his shoulder, since his arm was busy doing that to yours. Your fingers getting underneath the cutoff uniform jacket to spread the small warmth of your body seeping through his white, pressed shirt.

Even though it's just a side by side, none too physical embrace - it's comfortable.

It's enough.

* * *

Just outside, Levi leans away from the door, his features blanched. He went over when he realised Erwin's main office was empty, but whatever stupid thing he had to ask or say, felt trivial now.

He's heard enough of this particular story. He shouldn't be there. He knows it.

He's going to find the Vice Legate Sahtar, and ask him about the 'Gates of Hell' - because surely, it couldn't be worse than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {{ AN: oof, I beg, tell me I havent lost you guys. >.> Trying to set up the foundations of her character while not word vomiting every achievement to her role as Legate is tough enough, but this kinda had me working through my own....stuff.... so this is kind of a hurt/comfort i guess. I hope you like it.
> 
> fun fact, General Umman's sword is the Urumi. https://www.ancient-origins.net/artifacts-other-artifacts/flexible-and-deadly-blade-dangerous-urumi-007805  
> Terrifying little thing. }}


	8. Bedfellows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((AN: attention!!!, this is a mini chapter because work is kicking my ass. Hopefully this won't be a habit but I REALLY wanted to close this scene, okay? I kind of burned hard on the gigantic chapter prior but I desperately wanted to close this scene and I'm not sure when I can schedule my next update because I'm working from home and I work for a horrifically evil company that's destroying my soul and I'm tired constantly. So much so that shorter was easier. Sorry. If you're still reading it I hope you like it anyway. Gore TW))

_Chapter Eight_

**Bedfellows**

“Eleven is a young age for conscription,” he finally says, because you don’t say anything to his words, except for look away. How long were you in that position, before you got to become a serving soldier? How much harder did it have to be for you to become who you were now?

“Mm. But they don’t see battle until they reach majority - which is seventeen. They spend years training, they get their tiger marks when they survive their first skirmish, but girls can be taken into the services from the moment they’ve menstruated,” you said, absolutely frankly, and with such detachment that he wonders how long it must have taken for you to accept this as your grim truth, to not have any rage in your voice when you state the facts. “Which is horse shit, I know, but my mother realised it and tried to hide me when they came,” you add swiftly, because it can happen _young_ and has no hard set rule as to when.

“I know it’s still not great, but at the very least, men would choose women - ideally ones interested in them to begin with, who are closer to their own age once they’d seen battle, and a lot of times they’d even get sweet on them - and get married eventually. Taking a girl just because they think her body is ready - it’s considered archaic now,” the bitterness slips in despite yourself, _because for you it’s too little too late._

“Good,” it’s the only thing Commander Erwin can say, distaste slipping into his calm tones, because it’s the only thing he can bring himself to reply with that’s not abject revulsion.

Erwin felt a mix of emotions, he’s going through them so quickly it feels almost like whiplash and it’s not something he’s used to. He’s a well paced, calm sort of man, but you feel everything in extremes, viciously and tremendously, and are inadvertently pulling him into your maelstrom. He feels strangely guilty and even more at personal fault for exploring his lecherous thoughts so much, and having any at all - wondering briefly, what made him better than people who looked at you like a _comfort maiden_ first and a warrior second. He’s certain he’s valued everything you have brought to the table, and found your beauty invading his thoughts after the fact, but he still finds himself with a misplaced guilt that makes him want to grimace.

You notice the way he doesn’t hold your stare any more, and frown a bit.

“Hey,” - you nudge into the commander’s side a bit with the side of your shoulder to his, your fingers loosening around his lower body so you could slowly retract from the moment. Commander Erwin doesn’t fight it, but turns his head to you ever so slightly when you nudge him, only to see a mirthless smile on your lips.

“Don’t ruin my opinion of ya by pitying me or some shit, I haven’t been that little girl in a long time,” the unexpected tenderness had been nice, but had utterly thrown you in a way where you weren’t sure how to parse it, so, perhaps in a way that’s eager to take control again, you do so in the best way you know. That, and whilst you didn’t see judgement on Erwin’s face, the last thing you wanted was for him to go the other way and start treating you like you’re defined by one of your worst moments. You’ve come a long way, and killed far too many men since then, to be that little girl anymore.

Something about the buttoned-up, exceedingly sensible man who had gradually been easing himself closer to you, pulling back to potentially express pity or something you didn’t _need_ anymore, empathy - fine, but not pity, made your lips curve in light distaste. That wouldn’t do at all.

“I don’t need pity, or for you to look at me differently, that general got what he deserved anyway,” you feel the strength of Erwin’s gaze when he turns just a bit more and curiosity in his eyes. “In official terms - he was slaughtered by our enemies,” the word official being the operative word, he catches it, and you give him that much less kind smile - the one he had found chilling from the first moment he’d seen it.

“And unofficially?” he looks at you coolly, his eyes betraying all of his curiousness, but he said you didn’t have to answer any more questions. He would have been fine if you’d lapsed into a tense silence with nothing to follow.

You consider whether telling your potential ally something that could further a divide between you and the Eldians would be a good idea. But it’s an open secret, everybody knows what happened to General Umman, but nobody has the proof, there wasn’t enough for a military tribunal, and after what you did to gain the respect of your men, nobody would dare raise it. Leaning forward, closer into the commander’s space so that there was very little space between your faces, you look up into his eyes and meet them with a daunting little glint that he recalls while you sparred with Ashwari. The chilling little all-teeth smirk that reminds him sharply of how your movements had gone from playful to vicious on the flip of a coin when you had sparred against your own men.

You lent forward, so close that your nose almost brushes his ear, but he doesn’t move - or pull back while goosebumps raise against his neck and arms from your closeness.

“Well, now _that_ really would change your opinion of me,” your voice is a low, rumbling purr in the pit of your chest that the older man can feel washing over his bones. You’re so close now that all he can do is look at your eyes, or your lips, and both options tempt his clouded, hazy thoughts. Your closeness forcibly obfuscates his previous discomfort, and again, Erwin is caught between rapidly conflicting emotions.

“I doubt that, he sounds like a monster,” Erwin’s voice is surprisingly steady, considering how disjointed his thoughts now feel, but he is not a man who is easily scared or put off, and remains physically unmoved. He glances at the closed door, to give himself a break from the closeness of your eyes and your plump, deceptively gentle looking bow lip. He makes a quick decision that, whatever comes out next - it stays in this room. It’s not down to him, after all, if this alliance goes well or not. Large portions of it do rest on their cooperation but the meaty decisions will be made far above his head where he merely sits as advisory in the security counsel. A ridiculously powerful and well-heard position in this particular matter since the alliance balances on the efficacy of Vaziran anti-titan artillery, but he is not the definitive decider of where their little country will go.

“- _Mm,_ ” a soft little purr in the base of your throat - you were going to drive the message home now, you didn’t need the Commander to feel sorry for you - empathy is fine, but pity is not on the table. You didn’t tell him about your recruitment and how your army worked for sympathy, you told him because you felt like he should know. It wasn’t often told, purely because with the exception of those close to you, who had served with you, it’s sometimes harder for others to accept than you.

In truth, part of you didn’t expect the stoic man to be effected by it - he wasn’t like you, he was a clinical sort, whereas you felt everything at once, intensely and noticeably. It didn’t disappoint you, but you were quick to nip any thoughts of pity in the bud.

“I can assure you, I’m a much bigger, nastier one than he ever was,” he looks deeply into your face when you say that, you’d slain and stepped over a lot of bodies to get to where you were now. With a lick of your lower lip, you contemplate telling him exactly what you did, and press back to his ear again with an almost teasingly conspiratorial air - your tongue close enough to almost reach for his skin - but he still doesn’t move. He’s a little tense, but mostly from anticipation, Erwin’s heart steadily beating in his chest, feeling like it’s subtly getting louder the more control he feels himself losing.

You can feel a soft heat radiating from his skin, even though his features remain emotionless, and he gives you an unreadable stare. Between those sapphire eyes that shine a stormy grey in certain lights, and those cutglass cheekbones and immaculately neat blond hair, you know he’s an exceptionally handsome sort. It was one of the first things you’d noticed, and the seismic chemistry whenever you were left in the room was not lost on you. You noticed him noticing you. Half a lifetime of knowing what you wanted and getting it had you knowing exactly what a lustful gaze looked like, no matter how expertly smothered.

His eyes had traced over your body more than once, and even if he felt strange about it now, you weren’t about to let it stay that way.

_I’ve never had a devil before. It could be fun._

Breaking the foreign commander could be the most iconic lay you’d ever had - _I’m here for a good life, not a long one,_ you mused.

“Let’s just say he got a taste of his own medicine,” - this statement would bring a chill down the bones of a man of lesser constitution. Even though you had betrayed nothing, that sharply unforgiving little smirk and the dangerous glistening in those so warm hearthfire eyes which, more and more now felt like an all-consuming fire that was swallowing Erwin whole no matter what he did... gave him a vague sense that you'd put a stop to him yourself. Somehow.

_You remember how General Umman looked at you with pleading, wide-eyes, which had so often been bereft of any signs of mercy. When he looks into yours, he sees only a reflection of himself, his entire body tensing as you smeared your thumb over his lips, the rest of your fingers holding his jaw shut, with streams of warm, coppery maroon gliding between each digit and dripping around your wrist. General Umman’s features had grimaced with distaste under your grip and the taste of his own blood as your thumb pushes and smears it over his lips with a mockery of tenderness, like lip rouge. His tongue is curled up on the floor, like a discarded piece of skin from a fruit, you can still taste it in your mouth, his blood in your teeth from the force in which it had been ripped and spit to the ground._

_“You don’t want to look pretty for me, Umman?” a darkness in your eyes as you said it. Your other hand is pushed deeply into the centre of his abdomen, fingers and palm surrounded by pulsing, warm, flesh that makes him wail into your closed hand. His body vibrating with pain._

_“Awe, General. Is there something inside of you that you don’t like or want?” fingers twist maliciously inside of his torso, like you’re kneading bread with a single fist out of the man’s organs. Your eyes were bereft of anything helpless, anything kind, anything merciful._

_The General looked, desperately - for the humanity he did not spare others, and found himself left wanting._

_“Such a shame for you. So sad,” you sighed, smiling mirthlessly, before pulling your hand and arm so far back that blood caked your skin all the way from fingertips to elbow._

_The muffled wails stop._

Erwin doesn’t know what you’ve done, but those words - that look, and what small parts of it you do whisper, he finds himself grimly accepting. It feels like he’s skin is on fire when you pull back from his ear, and a finger dips - quite suddenly, to the peeping white collar of his white uniform shirt. In this moment, he realises his assessment of you on the sparring field was woefully lacking. You’re not just good, you’re positively deadly. The kind of propensity for brutality you had was unique and yet highly developed, and if you’re that good at this age, how much more could you become by the time you reach Levi Ackermann’s age, if you’re already at the point where he’s certain you could cut Erwin himself down. Now, Erwin Smith - commander or not, is no slacker - he’s a force to be reckoned with in his own right and can at the very least keep up with Levi, but one look at you after what you’d said - and what he’d seen - he feels the hairs on his neck stand up.

_I think this woman frightens me somewhat._

He can feel his heart getting louder, throbbing uncomfortably in his chest against in his ribcage. Inwardly, he’s reeling - because God, _why does that turn him on?_

It really shouldn’t. The way you talk to people, the way you look at him with that fiery look and devil may care smirk that he feels himself falling into - _like it’s some kind of game to you -_ it shouldn’t excite him. It’s a warning sign as clear as any, and he needs to sort through the absolute clusterfuck of conflicting feelings you’ve left him with.

“So don’t pity me, I’ve killed far too many men for that,” the soft drawl makes him want to shudder because you’re touching him openly and he hasn’t stopped you once. If he grabbed for your wrist, it might make it seem like he wants you to stop, and he doesn’t. He knows he should though. He had already told himself that making his lustful thoughts anything more than thoughts would complicate things unnecessarily.

But you’ve decided to complicate things for him regardless it seems. Erwin swallows a little when he feels his throat go dry when your finger brushes his bare flesh, he feels like his skin is on fire from the small touch because it’s in such a seldom touched place.

“And it’s not like I’m looking at _you_ any differently either. You’re not the little boy who made a mistake any more,” - he feels himself losing the ability to speak as your voice takes on a dulcet nature that has all of his rational thought clogging up like a stopped drain.

_Hells, what is she doing to me?_

He’s had people proposition him before, mostly in his youth, but none quite so confidently, or brazenly - not in a way where he’s actively being led by the nose like this. More than anything he wants it to be real, though - and not just a drawn out joke that you'll back away from with a giggle and a wink but something with an undercurrent of the same lust he has. He wants it despite himself. Despite his own better judgement.

“This is inappropriate, Legate,” he finally says something, and though he’s relieved he hasn’t gasped it out and revealed himself to be quite so estranged from intimate touch, his body still gives him away, and his words come out lower, and huskier than he means for it to be.

The finger that is deep in his collar, feeling the gentle bob of his throat when he swallows down the dryness, Adam’s apple grazing your skin, stops completely - but it has already delicately popped the first button of his shirt in a teasing, forward manner. God only knows how far you'd have gone to illustrate the point of how much more at peace you were with yourself, and how you were most comfortable in getting what you wanted out of men - the Commander has stopped himself from finding out, at least in that moment, and mentally kicks himself for trying to keep a cool head when you're giving him some sensual attentions.

You look at Erwin, and pause - slowly pulling your finger back and raising a brow - did you misread his roving eyes earlier, utterly? The Commander feels an almost instantaneous wave of regret, and though his words aren’t terribly convincing even to his own ears, he looks to the door, and then at you.

“Our alliance -- “ not _I don’t want this,_ because he cannot bring himself to lie, he’s too selfish, even after all these harrowing confessions, so much of him still wants this.

“Is being coordinated by the respective crowns,” you finish, a self-assured grin on your face now “-and isn’t dependent on if two commanders want to--” pause “-get a little closer than just an alliance,” with a bit more humour than you’d had in a while, you add “-we’re meant to become quite close… like bedfellows, no?” - and God - the argument is kind of sound, it doesn’t have to get out of hand beyond anything physical, you let him know you’re plenty experienced in that department - but Erwin isn’t sure if he can extricate some of his more complicated emotions.

Which is why he hesitates. The realisation that he has those _at all_ sends his thoughts spiralling and dashes his original hypothesis - that this is all entirely lusty, heady yearning for something exotic and different. It’s part of it, but not all of it. In truth, Erwin isn’t sure why he’s so conflicted when his body is desperate for it, because Hell, aren’t they both sitting on the bed he was so hungrily pleasuring himself on to the mere thought of it?

“-Mm. That’s the look. That’s the look I don’t want going away any time soon,” you can tell the Commander is thinking, hard - but the way he’s looking, that undercurrent of lust has resurfaced in the way he cannot pull his gaze from how close your mouth is.

You know he’s thinking about how easy it would be to put his lips on yours and seize that lightning in the air. It’s there. You both know it. Neither of you has to say it. But it’s there.

“I noticed you - ah, _noticing me,_ earlier,” you feel like, now, the way he is so clearly trying to work out what it is he wants to do, you have made your point. His lowered, husky tones and his transfixed gaze to your teasingly close mouth has gotten you back to somewhere you feel comfortable with him. Back to your _game._

The game of wanting, and being wanted. Not being pitied. Not being patronised.

“-and that’s the way I’d like to keep it, don’t let me catch your ass treating me differently just because of my past. ‘Cause I sure as shit haven’t stopped looking at how nice your ass is every time you leave the room just because I felt bad over what happened when you were a babe. I didn’t know that you, but I know this you,” _and you’re not defined by the worst things that have ever happened to you. Perish the thought._

Erwin feels his mind reach an absolute blank, like he’s just lost all of his wits in a single moment. He’s not an easy man to leave speechless, but you’ve managed to do that more than once so far. For a while, his mind refuses to decode and digest the statement.

_What._

You smile at him, and though there is some mirth in your tone, you purposefully let your eyes rove down from his face to his crotch, and back up to his eyes again, raising your brow once more in a challenging sort of way.

“Hm?” that’s the only thing that he can manage to save his wits, though he feels the absurdity starting to hit him, and amusement creeping up on his features despite himself.

“Hey. Women take a look too y’know,” you finish with that, and chuckle in such a way that some of the tension finally dissipates, though the Commander still feels like he has emotional whiplash. “-didn’t you hear me earlier? I like blonds.”

You grin, and get up off the bed, making your way to his desk to pick up the letter from the interior.

_This was going to be a fun game to pass the time, you haven’t gone this long without a bedwarmer in… how long? Shit._

“I’ll go show this to my Vice Legate now. Thanks for the tea,”

And just like that, you leave the man silently reeling - because now he knows, he knows that you know, and it’s like being caught in a spiders web, where all threads lead to you. Erwin cannot escape, and the problem is, he doesn’t want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( AN - If anyone's still here.... this is my trash pile and i'm sorry lmao. Anyway, I hope y'all are enjoying erwin feat. loss of control because damn he's complicated to write and i am so stressed about it. I constantly feel off my mojo, but I like their dynamic. Erwin has a lot of complicated feelings to try and parse through. The Vazirans are pretty hardcore af, though. The Legate is all kinds of badass. She's scary though. ngl I wouldn't want her as my enemy. I kinda got the vibe that Erwin might be into women that can kick his ass though??? so i went with that. that's my hc. deal with it lol))


	9. The Gates of Hell

_Chapter Nine_

**The Gates of Hell**

The Mess Hall is filled with the loud jostling of hungry soldiers from every rank, tables filled to the brim with fresh graduates, and seasoned veterans. The presence of the foreigners was now much more comfortable, and they’re fairly evenly spread across the hall rather than on one table, with two usually near each other, easily engaging with the Eldians present. The Dame Legate herself can be found between the Wagner siblings, grinning in between being delicately fed a somewhat tasteless dessert of crushed oats and some thin amounts of honey keeping it glued together - it’s probably the nicest thing you’ve had since you’ve got there, and Irma delicately snaps it in her hands and presses it into your lips.

There’s a brief mingling of lips to finger every time, and it makes Augustine grimace while his younger sister visibly preens. Paying little mind to your men and their socialising, you pointedly ignore the salutes in the room and the fact that your Vice Legate and Ryka are sat with the majority of Squad Levi, and that despite a generally antisocial nature, they’re all actually conversing.

“Vice Legate,” though the pair aren’t on good terms, Levi addresses him directly, and uses his titles. As someone who doesn’t really speak unless he needs to, and not one to socialise over dinner, this draws a bit of quiet from the others. Sahtar looks up from his plate, and stares at Levi with a surprised look on his face.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he barely glances over at the other table, where you’re sat just out of ear shot, but can be seen as the root cause of flurries of giggles and laughter, and flushed cheeks. “-about what you said earlier - the gates of Hell.” He wants to know how you came to lead someone like Sahtar, and your men. While Levi cannot dispute active skill in the field, his mind is still quietly reeling from what he’d heard, and now, more than ever, he wants the pieces that are missing - if not for his sake, then the commander’s at least.

This got some confused looks, but Sahtar doesn’t seem too surprised, and his purposeful dipping bits of his bread into his soup turned into him idly turning it in the bowl. Levi doesn’t offer any explanation to the confused glances, but it’s unsurprisingly Yeager who buts in - to loudly ask what he’s talking about.

“Ah, that,” Sahtar says, mulling over the statement openly. It’s a big topic to broach, and Ryka himself looks a little uncomfortable, staring deeply into his tankard of ale. Even if he was more confident with his Eldian tongue, he would still not be terribly good at telling these stories. Remembering it all still felt so terribly raw, but Sahtar was of the hardiest constitutions of all the tough Vaziran men in the room. “Hm. How to begin with that… I suppose… I should ask, what is the largest titan your people have come across?” - now this, Levi didn’t have to answer. Kirstein interjects before anybody else can, and blurts out the answer.

“Rod Reiss, a 120 metre titan,” - this earned a chorus of agreements and grimaces. The answer, while surprising - and horrifying - doesn’t visibly move Sahtar too much. He lets out a low, appreciative exhale - the Eldians are robust to survive that - but importantly, it gives him a springboard to work from. He does, however, make a mental note to enquire about that behemoth of a titan, the idea of a moving titan that large is simply put, nauseating.

“Hm. Alright. Picture that, and a few more then - I want you to picture a mountain that’s a little over 8,500 metres tall, because the base of it is what we call the Gates of Hell,” he sighs, and puts his food down - because this story always ruins his appetite utterly.

Armin even struggles to picture this, but when he looks at his friends - most visibly Eren, all he can see is how wide his eyes have gotten. A mountain bigger than several Rod Reiss’s is almost impossible to picture for many of them, even those who’d gone beyond the walls and seen the Forest of Giant Trees.

The Levi Squad begin to pay the quietly imposing, large Vice Legate all of their attention, and the airs - at least at that table, begin to inch towards something significantly heavier.

“The Dame Legate was sixteen… I believe, and we were stationed at the base of Mount Pashtan, the largest mountain in the known world, and one of our main passes between a border with a Marleyian colony and our eastern villages,” the Vice Legate leans back, and lets out a long, tired sigh. "It was to provide us a good long-distance view of any encroaching army, in theory - but even then it wasn't quite enough,".

You weren’t a leader on pure skill alone, nor is it simply how you’re able to talk to people and make them feel like they’re the only person in the world, though it’s certainly part of it. No, the reason you’re a well loved commander, despite the harshness of your tones at times - is simple.

It is not just your capacity to lead, that makes you a leader.

It was your willingness to suffer.

* * *

_{ Nine Years Ago_

_Mt. Pashtan - EASTERN VAZIRA_

_Pilgrim’s Base Camp - 2, 500 metres_

_Currently at 5,500 metres - up Eht Diavlos Spirahz }_

_The heat turns into an unimaginable cold the more the mountain pass breaches the clouds. The change from searing sun to cold is jarring, but is adapted to over the panting. Everyone’s body feels like it exists in a state of conflict - an unbearable sweat from the pace and strain of the upward climb and trek, but absolute frigidity of the air was its own, unique sort of discomfort. The Fourth Battalion ached entirely from foot to throat, but it’s you who keeps moving ahead._

_You pack snow on their backs when they’re hot, and you pick the uncomfortable, torn coats and rags from the bodies of the snow-frozen corpses that litter the mountain to dress the men when they’re too cold to continue. There are certain mountains that are considered sacred, and that summitting them means reaching communion with the Gods. You had grown up on such a mountain, and your father had been the kind of man who summited Mt. Jasmah thrice a month, attempting to recover, or sherpa lost pilgrims - both living and dead. You had joined him when you were old enough, and so quickly, you adapt - though the men of the Fourth Battalion are struggling for the most part, even Sahtar, who had not summited before, or scaled quite so high._

_“ - I can’t see!” nineteen year old Roloqan croaks into the softness “-I’m - I can’t see! You need to - need to leave me behind,” he barely feels the sting of your palm to his cheek, but he feels your spit freeze on his cheek when you snarl at him. None of them know where you draw your strength from, except for Sahtar - but even he is floored by how you’re able to keep breathing, your short, but deep inhales of oxygen in the rapidly crippling altitudes was something to behold - but the ability to shout, even a bit, is nothing short of amazing. Roloqan’s body can barely withstand it, and he’s now blinded in his left eye - and he isn’t sure if it’s permanent, or just his senses blackening under the severity of the weather conditions, or if he is just dying._

_You want to make him angry enough to keep going, and keep living._

_“Stop talking like a dead man! It’s pathetic,” snow falls into your mouth as you yell, and you can feel your lips crack under the pressure, but nonetheless, you stretch a sliver of torn material from the clothing you’d picked off from the landmark bodies to the man for him to hold._

_“Gods be damned, they’re - fucking climbing - still?” the human body struggles to produce energy when oxygen is low, and you’re already in the midst of the death zone. At this altitude, this is when the human body begins to slowly suffocate, and the men are losing their extremities - bits of their ears, fingers and toes to the frostbite._

_Titans are on your heels. Smart ones. Abnormal ones. Climbing ones._

_"Hell is overflowing," is all Sahtar can rasp out - though it goes largely unheard, because he can feel the entire weight of his tremendously well built body working against him, every step feels more difficult than the last. The echo in his lungs is so noticeable as the altitude brings a stranglehold over everybody. But if they don't try to mumble to each other, and ration out their oxygen to small words, they'll be left alone to their thoughts - which in the death zone is so, so much worse, because in his quietest moments, he thinks he can hear his mother crying in the heart of the mountain._

“ _Get - that - peak! We move… down… nightfall!” is all you manage to yell, urging your men not to look at the large, ascending, abnormal titans whose jaws are frozen in a mindlessly wide state, barely reacting as snow falls through into their teeth. The Marleyans had released titans over the disputed border, and had ran through most of your shells to the point a support crew had to arrive. The only solution was to try and block off the pass with your large artillery and lure the titans up the mountain. Many are too stupid to climb and will pine endlessly, but enough of them aren’t. There are at least two, large, 13 metre abnormals left and you’re rapidly discovering that they do not need oxygen to produce energy. The death zone does not remotely effect them, nor does the cold. All of you can feel the agony of your lungs, and it feels as though there is an echo inside of your body when each joint begins to ache under your own weight._

_You point to a peak that’s got a too-narrow climbing wall, and urge the men forwards, titans wont reach it, and there's a gap in the ice which looks like a small enclave to hole up in. You spend hours trying to source a fire, and keep each of them from freezing to death as you all eagerly await nightfall. Your harsh words are now a concerned gaze, ignoring the blackening, necrotic flesh of fingers and instead you touch their faces each, rubbing your palms in futility against them and their ice-frozen eyelashes. They welcome any source of friction for heat, but it’s so cold it barely registers through the layer of frost on their cheeks._

_“Come on, come on, stay awake now, please. I need you. I need you to be able to climb down. I can’t carry you,” you exhale - you're too small, these men are too large, and there is no way, even if you had the strength, it would sign your death warrant and everybody elses. “Your bodies wont survive a night up here, I barely would, if I’m lucky,” - at your command, the battalion is able to ache through until nightfall, though Solaire freezes to death quietly, despite your collective efforts._

_On the climb down, once safe, and spotting the now inactive, unsettlingly still titans, with what little strength you collectively have, at your command, you create a purposeful avalanche onto their bodies, hoping to bury the titans a bit on your way down._

_“We need to keep going - at all costs! We’re so close, but if we die here, medivac can’t get us this high!," you cry out to them, feeling your throat ache as the winds smack your lips with snow and a whipping sound of the air gliding past your ears._

_One by one, the remaining men let this slip of a girl direct them down the mountain as safely as she could._

_It is at the end of this expedition, Sahtar of Jasmah, acting head of Battalion Four, would bend the knee._

_The rest would slowly follow._

* * *

The idea of a titan scaling a mountain side is horrifying, but even more-so is the idea of an agonising upward chase - knowing that titans don’t need air, but hearing how something like altitude can just kill a man slowly, it’s a stark reminder of the horrors of war outside of merely being caught between a titans jaws. The idea that it was a purposeful act of war on a civilian border is equally galling, and that even at a ridiculously high base camp for the mountain pass - that Marleyans had figured a way to dispense titans onto that land. It was uniquely cruel, and harrowing to realise the nature of their enemy, and the complex nature in which they think. They wanted to thwart the nearest military base and expand into the disputed border, even if they had to air drop titans to do it.

Vice Legate Sahtar describes, in detail, the way you direct the men down the safest path. He described how titans had forced them to scale up the pass and how their evacuation route was cut, but you had been the only person to keep their wits, and begin shouting directions despite it all.

“Of course, she would know how. Even if she was a small child, she’s mountain blood through and through. Her father spent his whole life summitting the second largest mountain in the world to recover lost pilgrims. It’s no wonder she’s the only one whose body could survive the altitudes that well,” he explains “-As a boy I regularly helped get game from her village for my father’s merchant business, but even I’ve never quite scaled the heights her family was known for. She was a gangly, slip of thing back then too, if you can believe that,” he shakes his head with what can be called a bitter smile, and it’s now that the missing fingers and parts of the men which had been previously noted finally sets in, as living proof of what they’d been through.

It makes an uncomfortable sort of air settle over the table. Surprisingly, none of the Eldians had worked up the courage to ask them about it, and it seemed to be an unspoken acknowledgement that doing so might be just over the bounds of rude. Now, though, things were beginning to make sense, and even Armin feels his gaze slipping briefly to Ryka’s missing little finger.

“She’d already been through so much - and she used to be so sweet,” he admits - and at this, Ryka catches his voice waver and frowns a little, Levi catches it too - and finds himself struggling to quite equate the word sweet with the loud, fierce and brazen flirt he'd seen the Dame Legate to be. “She couldn’t stomach the idea of any of us dying when she’d been through the thick of it with us since she’d been taken into the services,” - it’s at this, Levi notices the men tense. He knows why, of course - he’d overheard the story that the Dame Legate had told Erwin, but none of the men offer context, and so Levi does not state it. The others, thankfully, are hanging off the unsociable Vice Legate’s words so much that none of them really think to ask much, or think strangely of how a foreign army might recruit.

“Honestly, she’d copped a lot of punishments from our old General. Horrible little man he was,” Sahtar admits freely, getting a derisive snort from Ryka - who has been searching for the correct way to sum up his overall distaste for the subject matter.

_“Hasim Umman de Pharvas,”_ Ryka mumbled “- terrible bastard you have to be, to be called General Umman _the Cruel_ even in conscripted military,” he pokes his plate rather viciously at his mere mention, which has the Kirstein boy flinch a little, perhaps the only benefit of being a man of such reputation is that it gave higher ranks a wary enough edge that he never quite reached the status of a legate. It’s also the first time _conscription_ is mentioned to the squad as a whole, but surprisingly, none of them challenge it - not right then, anyway. There is a fresh wave of curious looks to that, but the men sound a lot more casual and at ease, and nobody dare break the flow of the freeflowing conversation between two of the least talkative, but well informed, Vaziran men. It is, however, incredibly difficult for any of the Eldians to picture you as less muscular, as a _slip of a thing,_ or certainly the kind of person to lay down and take a beating, but neither of the men appear to be joking, or the sort to exaggerate - they’re both far too serious. It’s at this, that Eren rather obviously turns to stare at the Dame Legate’s table, as though trying desperately to picture someone that cocky and brazen simply laying down and letting somebody tear strips into them. From everything he’s seen so far, he struggles to picture it, and from the looks of some of Levi’s squad, so did they.

“Ah yes,” Sahtar nods, with a grimace making its way onto his hard set features, glancing away from all of the questioning looks for a moment - because the subject of that man is a sore one for the entire Fourth Battalion. “She spent a lot of time trying to reason with that awful little man - our former general, even from a young age - he's the sort to flay his own men for insubordination - kind of thing that gets you court marshalled these days. Strange little girl she was, even back then, she felt a need to protect us. As if she was big enough to do a damn thing,” he adds with a short, and rather empty sort of laugh that makes the majority of Levi’s squadron rather uncomfortable.

“Psh. But she was in the end, wasn’t she? Led us grown men down _Eht Diavlos Spirahz_ good enough,” Ryka states, which, the Vice Legate can’t really disagree with, but he always found himself at a loss and a moral standstill when he thinks about just how much the Dame had done from a young age. Telling the stories always highlighted just how much of it never quite sat right with him.

Ryka sees the questioning stare from some of the squad at his last statement, and racks his brains for a moment, brow furrowed hard as he tries to translate it. “The ah - uh, _The Devil’s Backbone!_ Yes, that is the… path they call it for pilgrims going up Mount Pashtan,” he adds sagely, rather proud of his translation, though blissfully unaware as to how severe and ominous it truly was in his secondary tongue, even when Sasha Blouse’s eyes visibly widen - but he's so proud of his ability to find the right words without Rahib or the others pitching it, that he doesn't notice it. He's just happy to feel less uncomfortable talking around the Eldians, who didn't seem to particularly mind his accent, or occasional butchery of words, and if anything, were more understanding than he had expected of so-called devils.

“Mm. After that, it was difficult to not treat her as a drafted member of the army. I was the step-in for Umman after his passing, and was fully prepared to let her go back to our village, you remember what she said Ryka?” there’s a sudden fondness in the naturally abrasive, hard, bass-like tones of Sahtar’s voice that makes any warmth so much more noticeable. The story continues on in much the same legendary fashion, it's the sort of unique history that is carved into the Fourth Battalion and runs so deeply that it isn't difficult to see why you'd be lauded and put into such a position.

Ryka lets out a loud, sudden, bark-like laugh that has Armin tense all over from how close he is, drawing his shoulders up to his ears in a surprised, visible recoil at the guttural sound.

“I do! _Piss on that, give me my stripes!”_ Ryka quotes, practically beaming as he recalls the fierceness in your youthful, stubborn tones - even after _everything._

“Ahah, yes! She demanded tiger marks, just like all of us - though, we get ours at seventeen, when we survived our first skirmish. I’d argue she survived hers far earlier, and I wasn’t about to tell her no, not after all of that. She’s the reason we’re all sitting here,” he remembers how your back had been an absolute state of destruction though, wounds of seared slashes in all directions from the harshness of General Umman’s whipsword over the years, that he had no choice but to do it to your front. It was only ever going to be Sahtar who would do it to you, too - being the one skilled enough to do the ceremonial act, he's also the one who imparted his hunting skills down to you. There would always be a level of connection that the others would never quite reach, something that bonded you closely like plants that happened to grow too close to one another that find their roots inexplicably but inextricably bound together. It comes from hailing from the same mountain village, and with the village being the size that it was, though your ages were different and you had never known the man while you were a child, he had certainly known of your family, and there is a familiarity there that could not be found anywhere else.

Sahtar, wisely, refrains from certain details - and he's certain the captain is probably somewhat aware of that fact, just from the discreet side-eye he can feel himself getting, even without looking at Levi directly. There are things he carefully leaves out of the weaving of the Dame Legate's legendary status - how she was taken in, how young she'd been, and her role in dethroning the old general, after all... 

It's Sahtar who had found you standing over his body, and had made the decision in that moment - seeing you standing beside his prone, utterly still body. His lips had been caked in blood which poured down his chin, with his jaw hanging open in a manner so unnatural that it seemed strangely perverse, his face a short distance away from what Sahtar had quickly realised to be a severed tongue. He remembered how you'd stood there, standing gormlessly between General Umman's body and the door, looking at the man with large, wild eyes. He saw the bits of flesh under your fingernails, and how the scent of copper permeated thickly in the general's quarters. and the redness that soaked your arm from hand to elbow - it had been him, who had discovered you the day you had finally snapped and slain the general in his bed. His body is, typically, awarded not an ounce of dignity, his wrists bound to his bed post, one of which is still holding his arm up from the floor, his hand hovering above his own head limply. It was easy to tell what had happened, and he remembers how you'd tried to speak - and all he could see was the blood in your teeth. It was he who, there and then, made a decision - seeing your gangly, awkward form quivering slightly, looking at him like a startled deer, he had chosen you over Umman, and had you peel out of your bloody clothes there and then. He'd wiped down your arms and hissed through his teeth for you to get in the shower, and not to make a sound. 

The sweetness he had spent a long time associating with you had died that evening, but one look at those amber eyes that swam with loss, confusion, pain and fear told him there was still something worth protecting there. So he did. And he would continue to do so. From this day, until his last day.

There was a fierceness and a kind of unique, and horrific brutality that had been cultivated inside of you to survive for so very long under the thumb of somebody so exceedingly brutal, to the point you had to reflect it yourself, and you are equal parts destructive and hot-headed with a fire in your belly to survive, as much as you are caring, and deeply loyal to the men you had served. He wasn't about to disclose that to his allies, though - because in truth, he has no idea how a walled off, isolationist society might respond to kind of barbarity the Fourth Battalion had to ache through in order to survive.

There is a little talk over the ritual that had taken place with the Dame Legate's body, which some of the men have some passing curiosity about, having seen the markings up close. It’s an ancient, skin-chiselling ceremony done with a bone blade and a mixture of traditional inks and a high amount of heat.

“Ah, I cried for my mother when I got mine,” Ryka freely admits, to the surprise of everybody sans Sahtar “-most of us do. Not her though,” - at this, the Vice Legate jumps in, lips still stretched into a reminiscent, fond smile, his onyx eyes not focused on anyone in particular.

“Oh, she cried. Bawled her eyes out, hardly moved though. Remember what she said to Reza when he tried to make us stop the ceremony?” - at this, Ryka cannot help but match the Vice Legate’s small smile.

* * *

_“I g-got…to choose this,” your hand had reached out weakly for Reza, and faintly you can feel the warmth of your blood pouring over the heated tip of the crisp, white blade that is pushed under your exposed chest, yet surprisingly, there is nothing overly sexual in the room, or lecherous gazes, it’s an uncomfortably still atmosphere. Your back had been torn to pieces years earlier, that doing the markings there was unthinkable, as the flesh is so clearly shredded under years of a whipsword. What is happening right now feels primal, and ancient, and none have the gall to disrespect what it is happening, though the agony of your tears had jarred Reza enough that he pleads how unnecessary it is to the Vice Legate, who doesn’t look up from his careful handling of the blade._

_"Y-you...poor... boys, didn't."_

_You didn’t even have the strength to squeeze Reza’s hand, before you finally succumb to the pain as the adrenaline ebbs, because the whole affair takes so long that your skin begins to scream with soreness. The soreness, and the repeated going over the wounds with the black inks is what truly hurts, even more than the cut and the heat. The men watch as your eyes roll back, and you pass out on the makeshift bed. You receive this rite of passage at the age of sixteen, one year shy of all of your men._

_The words ‘you poor boys’ quietly ringing out through the room in a dead silence. They cannot bare to leave you like that though, which is so often the next step of this ceremony, if someone loses consciousness, they're left where they lay until they come to, and stagger towards medical services. Each of them remembers the feeble but desperate sensation of your palms rubbing their frozen faces frantically, constantly wasting what precious oxygen you had, talking to them, and making sure they weren't succumbing to the death zone altitudes of the mountain pass. It's why none raise a brow, or stop Amir from bringing a small blanket and wrapping your chest and back, carefulling to let the ink and scarification breath. There is a reverence to your unconscious and vulnerable body that had not been afforded to any of them when they had first undergone their rite of passage, but none dare think it was anything less than completely deserved._

_They try to preserve a sense of dignity for you, and express their gratitude for all that you had done._

_On this day, when you eventually stir and come to, you awaken into the rank of official, fighting member of the standing army of Vazira, Fourth Battalion._

* * *

“That’s… really something,” it’s Armin who speaks, and his eyes do not leave the none-too-far figure of the Dame Legate. It’s Levi, however, who feels his surety in his mistrust being put so much into question that he’s half tempted to leave the Mess Hall all together just to think. He does, however, maintain his unflappable demeanour, and just nods once in the direction of the Vice Legate.

“And that’s why you follow her,” he says in his typical monotone, though it’s hard to tell if he’s judgemental, or quietly appreciative.

“Who wouldn’t? Why wouldn’t you follow the woman who’d die a thousand deaths for you? After Umman, it was a welcome change - and she’s a head for leadership. Certainly more men were prepared to die for her than for me,” Sahtar snorted - though he leaves out how he knows you would be exactly brutal enough for the job of a Legate, certainly, what he’s already disclosed is enough for the squad to begin to understand. The stories of the Fourth Battalion were something of legend, in a way - they’re the kind of army stories that pass for years to come. Sahtar knows he's played a part in weaving this legend too, it's steeped entirely in truth, but there are things that, meaningfully, he has kept out - because he doesn't want to taint the image in any way, and you're far too honest and blunt for your own good. Had you been in this conversation, he has no doubt you'd have told the story with far less reverence and not left a single thing out.

More than anything, what the Vice Legate Sahtar wants, is for the Eldians to respect you just the same as he and his men do.

“-Better at people too,” Ryka mutters - because it's your ability to talk to people in the way that you do that has garnered the Fourth Battalion a better reception over the years.

“No arguments there. She could charm her way out of the gallows,” Sahtar grunts, before finally returning to his food. He's said enough, he thinks - though he can feel the way Levi's stare burns holes into his skin when he looks over his spoon to the man.

Finally, Sasha breaks the tension - because she cannot stand the severity of the air that settles after the war stories the men of Vazira have told.

“Looks like she’s charming her way into the Wagners pants,”.

* * *

The Engineering Corps are a seldom discussed sub branch of the military, who are not typically part of active service. They are a sect of the most skilled intellectuals and labourers that wash up into the ranks of the serving military, as many from outlying villages like Elsfeld are known to attempt joining when food is scarce, and harvests are poor - even if the three year training program itself was known for having a death count for students who couldn't handle it. Many got sent back to their villages, but some cadets fail so spectacularly that student death isn't unheard of, but still, some people don't fight for humanity - some just want three meals a day, a lazy job with the police, or the Garrison, and to have access to a steady stream of ale and food. Among the many kinds of people that end up flooding the Garrison - usually from not making it into the MPs and absolutely refusing to die for the Survey Corps, seeing it as little more than a cannon fodder branch, the oversubscribed branch of the Garrison leads to there being the ability to pick and choose the best and brightest of minds, and particularly skilled labourers. Blacksmiths and carpenter tradesman families often end up being scouted, and are usually picked exclusively by members of higher ranking, and in special cases, directly by Hange or even Pixis, if he were to take note of a specific soldier. 

The Engineering Corps is, in short, a pretty good deal. They're responsible for the production and repair of defective equipment, and for regular evaluations of the Garrison's wall defences. To that end, they're also a dedicated research department, and are often directly, if not indirectly, involved in some way with Hange and her exploits. As a result, they're hardly in the field at all, though they're expected to regularly test equipment, and, if on the rare occasion a member is scouted from the Survey Corps - are expected to test it with stray titans in a specifically sectioned area. MPs are rarely ever jostled into joining the Engineers, though it's happened at least once, by other soldiers there's little positive regard, many see it as an easier ride than even being within the security of the interior, to the point that a quota is put in place for them to have done a certain amount of active duty in order to maintain their cushy status, or they'll end up right back to their original regiment, and have to deal with the level of judgement and some small scorn from those who think they had it easy. 

"Alright team, we need to talk saltpeter mines," Hange starts off the meeting with a level of overzealousness but firm assertion that has you remain silent when you're joining them for a meeting. This thinktank of what is considered to be the more intellectual minds is the last place you feel like you fit in, but as part of the letter Commander Erwin received - demanding a report from this group, and you being responsible for the large anti-titan artillery, you are uncomfortably present. The kinds of people here far exceed you in their learned nature, and you distinctly feel like you do not fit in. However, your presence is, as a matter of course, required - because you're the one who would dictate to the Vice Legate what supplies would be needed for your missions in terms of funding from the Crown, and overall withdraws from the armouries. You were also the key point of contact for Vazira, assuming the birds get back in one piece, would need a thorough understanding of what the Engineering Corps is asking for, and needs.

Hange talks numbers, and the caves needed to up gunpowder production dramatically for the massive sustained fire weapons - things that a lot of times, were in reports already composed for you and brought to your attention by your quartermaster, but, he was dead - so, you were the best they were going to get. Levi is, surprisingly, also present for this, but is more carefully observing the way you recline back in your chair, letting the more vocal engineers speak. They're named Hans, Major, Gilbert and Oswald - though there are about twelve people present overall, you're not sure if that is the entire corps or just the more logistical side of the thinktank, but the intensity of Major and the questions about the gun he had were dizzying. You couldn't answer most of them - the only things you could really provide was field efficacy, reloading, general costs and maintenance.

"I can, however, get us some schematics, I'm sure you've gotten a pretty good idea of its guts just poking around the Ultra Long Range Bombardment Rifle but we have a lot more at our disposal," you mention a few of the more heavily demanded things from the armoury - namely long range grenade launchers, and the concept of a landmine, which had gotten Oswald and Hange's interest. 

"To be honest," you say, finger cleaning out an ear idly - you'd had to tune out a lot of the more technical things that had gone over your head "-I don't know shit about shit. I can reload the thing, maintain it, discharge it, but what you eggheads are looking for? That's - probably getting signed off from the Ministry of Defence? I know we had to clear it with them to bring our Anti-Titan artillery to you, I have some connections there," - the words Ministry of Defence piques a significant amount of interest - and the discussion lapses into something else entirely.

"There's not an abundance of Legates in our army, but we surpass Generals and can be considered one of the highest rankings in the People's Army of Vazira - naturally, I've had to deal with that bunch a few times. A few of the times we've had to move through the capital I've had to use their authority to clear a few things on the occasion that my status couldn't," namely with the chief of police, but they didn't need to know that - but it's probably why everybody assumes you've had an affair with the man because with the rowdiness and propensity for whore-mongering, and bar fights, you'd had to get one to one with Magnus more than once to get him not to raise holy _Hell_ about the issue or fine your men out of the ass. The amount of times you'd had to bail Ryka out of a jail cell for brawling was already far more than a serving member of the military should be doing.

"This is good, that's good," Hange says, adjusting her glasses with an excitable look "-We just need to finish drawing up the numbers for the preliminary report for the gunpowder export and I'll get that to Commander Erwin before day's end - thank you for all your help," she nods appreciatively. She draws herself up to full height from behind her desk and walks over to you, before beckoning the rest of the thinktank, all of which, were dressed in similar uniform, but interestingly, did not have a particular patch emblazoned to show their regiment on their arms, and instead, simply have the unmarked cadet symbolism, in an attempt to erase any difference in social standing or hierarchy from scouted members of the Engineers from regiments beside the Garrison. 

This is the part Levi is the most interested in, as interesting as the concept of the Executioner from Hell was - which had garnered plenty of discussion, he wanted to see the gun you'd brought from Vazira successfully fire, not just the smoking holes in the necks of titans after the fact. He struggles to picture the repeat, quick, rapid fire you mentioned - especially something of that size, which he likened to a marginally less wide cannon. It moves surprisingly easy, all things considered, but the mechanisms inside of it are significantly more complicated than the standard wall defences.

"Now, the test run we've all been dying to see," Hange grins, throwing the exit door open out of the meeting room.

Hange leads everybody to a quieter, lesser guarded section of the wall, where you notice there are a few people present already. Commander Pixis, for one, and the familiar form of Commander Erwin, who is muted talks with him. It dawns on you for a moment, just how much hope is placed on you, when men of such standing are not only meeting with you with a regularity, but when it is something as benign as a weapons discharge, it highlights just how badly they need this to work. The Engineer Corps thinktank salute over their hearts. It's only you who doesn't, inclining your head in acknowledgement of men who were considered your peers, Pixis returns the gesture, and you make a point to barely look at the Survey Corps leader. Not for any particularly bad reason - you still found him rather nice to look at, but with more time to yourself, the words _this is inappropriate, Legate,_ had enough time to digest.

You had every intention of trying your luck with the man at some point, but that was not the focus of the moment being.

He didn't seem to know how to approach the blunt and brazenly flirtatious nature you had, and you weren't one to temper it too much, and you did entertain the passing thoughts that you could have misread all of the mans signals, as he could be quite difficult to read. The distance between all of you, at least, reduced the noticeable tension as you fell into the small crowd of soldiers and instructed them on the reloading of the device. Every member of the corps had a large, metallic protective ear mufflers you had insisted upon, that they mimicked from the battered sets which had been recovered with what little gear you'd had. The Commanders are far enough away that they don't need them, and it's with an electrifying excitement that some titans had actually been rounded up by some of Levi's squad, after he briefly gives leadership to Jean to stay within range of the Wall, and the barrel of the great gun remains pointed at the nearest 7 and 8 metre titans that are blindly bumbling and scratching the Wall.

The gun itself doesn't cause the same level of ground trembling that comes from cannon fire, but it's close, and easily drowns it out in terms of noise - as even those close by have to slam their hands over the metallic earmuffs to clamp them closer against their ears. On instinct, many of them feel their knees bend and their bodies flinch from the loudness, which keeps on coming and coming until the ammunition runs dry, only Levi and yourself fail to react in that way out of all of the people closer by. The commanders look relatively unaffected, but their eyes are firmly cast over the wall, ignoring the screams of Hange whose now pumping both arms, and practically foaming at the mouth.

There are large, blistering craters made into the ground and the repeat, rapid fire on such small titans not only eviscerates the neck - sending smoking bits of flesh and bone spattering wildly against the Wall, it leaves very little in the way of limbs overall. Smaller titans didn't stand much of a chance, and if aimed in the right way - which Hange notes is surprisingly easy and much more flexible than the neck of a cannon, she's certain that it could take down a twelve, maybe even fifteen metre titan. It's no wonder you were all able to get as far into their island as you had.

Losing the lion's share of your shells really was the thing that had led to the majority of the deaths on your expedition, it seemed.

"Yes! **YES!** Oh my God! _Yes!_ " Hange is screaming, her eyes impossibly wide, grinning so much, spit flying in excitement - you're surprised she doesn't jump clear over the Wall with how excited she seems to be. She doesn't seem remotely bothered about her level of decorum in front of both commanders either. None of the engineers have the authority, or will, to particularly stop her exuberance either - and to your surprise, she slams her entire body into your side, arm thrown around your neck with a smile so big you're surprised her face doesn't split entirely.

"If you'd told me we could achieve something like this, a few months ago. I'd have laughed at you, but right now, I could kiss you full on the mouth!" she's practically cackling, and you merely raise a brow at her, rather nonplussed and unphased by the deployment of the Ulra-Long Range Bombardment Rifle, you just take Hange's excitement into easy stride.

"Lets put a pin in that," you drawl, a soft little purr in your tone which goes blissfully over Hange's head. You turn to Captain Levi, whose eyes are firmly affixed to the smoking, explosive damage done to the landscape, and the remainder of the titans bodies, which were quickly steaming into nothingness.

"Captain Levi?" you call out to him, and it seems to snap him out of his thoughtful reverie, causing him to look over at you with that forever unimpressed stare, though now, you can see his eyes have widened ever so slightly. He otherwise gives you no outward reaction, besides looking at you.

"Consider this one a gift to your squad, more will be on the way, and we'll have hopefully got enough ammunition setup before your next expedition, eh?" you thumb to Hange, whose practically stroking the gun at this point, and admiring the handiwork of the trigger system, experimenting with how light it is to reaim and lock into a certain position. "For doing me and my men a solid in the woods," - at this, all Levi does is nod, and just the once.

He isn't sure if you have the authority to do that, but, if not you, then who? It's your weapon, even if it's on their land.

"One condition," a small, wonky smile creeping up on your features.

"What could you possibly want?" Levi's tone isn't as abrasive as usual, but one that sounds close to genuinely questioning - almost lost. He hasn't had much sustained conversation with you, and in truth, parts of him are still recovering from the efficacy of the bombardment rifle, that his mind is barely registering your words. There's a strange, small, needling hope that maybe he isn't just Humanity's Strongest anymore, but that, potentially, at least in the near future - he might share that title with something else.

And it is a strangely relieving sensation that Levi Ackermann didn't know he needed to feel.

"Get me some one on one with that omni-directional gear," your grin now almost rivalling Hange's - you'd been thinking about it for a while now, ever since you'd seen Blouse and Springer throwing each other around playfully from great, impressive heights with all the expertise of seasoned acrobats, despite not quite being so acrobatic without it - it was nothing short of impressive. As someone whose honed style relied heavily upon flexibility, speed, and manipulation of air space to give yourself as many advantages as possible, and your own vehement hatred for your arm grapples that had been your only leveller of the playing field when in one to one combat with titans, had you practically aching to get more than just a look at it.

"Mm, please? I showed you mine," you gesture to the gun, your cocky little drawl seeping back into your tone "-now you show me yours, no?" - which earns a strangled noise from Hans, whose within earshot after removing his earmuffs. In this moment, the words of the Vice Legate choose this time to play in the shorter soldier's mind - because he struggles to equate the woman he's looking at right now, with such callous, and downright filthily obvious flirtations was anything close to sweet, once upon a time, is almost impossible to picture.

Levi is about to reply - until the voice of his commander speaks over him, and you feel Erwin's shadow cast over you from behind.

"I think that's something we can arrange, Legate," - and there it is, even without turning around, the electrifying, seizing tension that seems to only ever be present between the pair of you, even with your back turned to the man. Levi catches it, and notes the look on his commander's face, the quicksilver smile and something a little more than just calculating in the deeps of his eyes and how they roam over you.

Initially, you're not quite sure if he's referring to the ODM or your choice of language, and the cheeky response that's on the tip of your tongue dies in your throat when you turn around to look at the man, and see him.

He's openly looking at you with that gaze which laps from calculating to downright hopeful and even though only yourself and Levi are really close enough to see, that little smile on his face, which is so rarely seen is now more noticeable than ever, and you feel your mind go completely blank. 

"Tch. Dump her with the cadets, I won't have time," Levi says - because in truth, the notion of being saddled with the task of showing you ODM is far beneath him, and all of them know it, but you'd asked him first and foremost, so it's a natural assumption to think his commander's agreement would imply it's him that'll have to do it.

"Leave it with me," and it's now, to Captain Levi's slight surprise, and some of the corps who were present, though less so to Commander Pixis, the blond man openly extends a hand. "Legate, would you care to join me and Commander Pixis for a moment?".

_Holy fucking mixed-messages Gods, this man is confusing,_ you groan - you'd just resigned to him perhaps playing hard to get, if at all, but - well - maybe that look he's giving you isn't about however he may or may not feel in terms of attraction. Right now, he's looking at you like you have all of the world's hope on your shoulders - and he just wants to touch your hand to know it's real. Normally he's content to walk quite stoically beside you, hands tucked behind his back, so why this, why now? In front of this small crowd of significantly important people?

With more grace than you'd ever had, you take his hand, if only not to leave him hanging, and follow him as he leads you towards Commander Pixis.

_What do you want from me, Commander Erwin?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((( A/N: Not much in the way of intimacy in this one, but I wanted to chug it along so I could get back to some one on one Good Character Moment Shit.
> 
> We got to explore a little of Sahtar/Dame Legate though! And I really wanted to do that for a while. Setup some Sahtar-Erwin interaction a bit better, and get a bit more Levi Thoughts in there.
> 
> Back to your regularly scheduled romantic content soon. Haha, I expected to update this weekend but coughed this out a little early, we'll see if I can get anything done this weekend too. :) I'm glad anybody is reading this hah, I kind of write it for myself and y'all are kinda along for the ride. This fic is pretty much BIG SIMPING for Erwin. Shit. I'm surprised I didn't title it Erwin's Happy Ending. But there ya go. Look forward to some more heavy shit between them. I just wanted to show you some of the hard ass fucking shit she's had to go through. She's had some fucking journey, but she's equal parts soft as she is hard, and Erwin brings out the best of her, I think - as much as she brings out his human sides. Look forward to that, and Heavy Shit, and... the future lewds ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) . I'll stop rambling now....)


	10. Hopes & Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big bonding chapter, tw for ptsd and grief

_Chapter Ten_

**Hopes & Dreams**

It felt like something of a show, the way the tall blond tugged your hand to have you trailing behind him a little. It was perfectly gentlemanly, and chaste, but an extended arm is more customary, and certainly this sort of thing isn’t done between the armed ranks. He walks you to Commander Pixis, who doesn’t react too much, but his eyes flicker briefly to your limply held hand and then back to your eyes.

Erwin lets go, his hand moving to your shoulder in a much more platonic sort of way, giving the Garrison leader a firm, confident look. In truth, it’s because it just felt natural to do so, after how close the two of you had been getting in private, and with a certain, subtle airiness to his footsteps, he had been overjoyed with the successful fire of the weapon. He had been hanging onto _seeing is believing_ so much that he hadn’t allowed himself to be as intrepidly hopeful as some of the others, but now? Now, he dared to hope - and in truth, it made his control slip and so naturally reach for your hand that he hadn’t thought about it until he’d done it.

“With what the Legates have brought with them, I have fewer doubts that we could expand out past the walls,” he spoke with the utmost faith in you, in such a way you were almost a little startled, but smothered it.

“After witnessing the destruction for myself, I’d be hard pressed to disagree with you,” Commander Pixis gives a hint of a smile behind his moustache, his eyes falling on you. “I wasn’t going to miss this for anything. I also just wanted to thank you in person for taking the time out to sit with our engineers, I'm vaguely aware that sort of thing is below your station,”.

“I don’t know how useful I was,” you replied, a slight grimace on your face. “I’m not terribly educated, if you really wanted to get into the bones of our weapons, our quartermaster would have been better,” - and then, without missing a beat, you just shrug “-but you’re stuck with the few of us that remain. Most of my men are dead, and we barely count as a diplomatic envoy let alone a platoon now there’s less than a handful of us,”.

Pixis lets out a short, grim noise but nods once.

“Well, that can’t be helped, but your assistance is invaluable all the same,” he states, glancing behind the pair of you to the overly excited Hange and the engineers that are surveying the gun a small distance away.

“Once we’ve made successful contact with Vazira for the respective Crowns, I’ll be including a request for some weapons schematics to our Ministry of Defence. I might not know shit about shit when it comes to what the geniuses want,” thumbing back behind your shoulder to the thinktank. “-but I do have connections,”.

“Ministry of Defence?” Commander Pixis gives this his full attention, and for a while, with Erwin largely quiet, he asks you a few things.

“Mm. Exactly what it sounds like. They’re in charge of everything to do with the standing army of Vazira and weapons development and security on every level, national and international,” you feel the stares against your backs from the others as you all turn to head indoors, and smile casually.

“They’re the reason me and my men were selected to come here, and put on a year long intensive anti titan program. When I became a serving member of the army, it was because I was able to help us down The Devil’s Backbone when a bunch of those Marley bastards had titans dropped into our mountain outpost. It was lead them up the mountain initially or let them storm through the pass and sack our eastern villages,” you said shortly, a small look of displeasure on your face.

Erwin, having not been present in the Mess Hall for Sahtar’s story, finds himself hanging off each word you say. You notice from your peripheral vision just how intensely his eyes are falling on you, while Commander Pixis stares out ahead, idly looking over some of the soldiers.

“They’re usually too stupid to climb,” Pixis comments “-Abnormals, I take it?” he says, brow still furrowed.

“13 metres give or take, two of the fucking things. We took out the little dumb ones enough but they’ve a habit of targeting our artillery and trying to catch us off guard. Guiltily they succeeded, but no one really expects anything to happen in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. The villages in the Blackwastes are as rural as it gets,” you snorted, though it was absent of malice, since, being a mountain village girl yourself, you had felt quite devastated at the time.

“Titans don’t care if the air gets thin, and we had to climb so high. It was a bastard and a half. You know, there comes a point the human body can’t make energy anymore, and the altitude has you suffocate?” at this, your eyes seem a little distant, and if the Garrison commander noticed, he didn’t comment on it. There is a slightly tainting bitterness slipping into your casual, relaxed tones and it was noticeable coming from the kind of person who is usually not quite so serious. “Bits of your body go black and start to die while you’re still alive. It’s why a lot of my men are missing fingers and bits,”.

Immediately, Erwin thinks of your feet, and how you had wiggled what remained of your toes with a cheeky smile and commented on your lack of extremities. He hadn’t pressed it, but the answer was - well, not one he expected. The fact you’d been so lighthearted about it had him thinking it was probably just some strange accident, but the grim reality set in as you spoke to them both.

“Ghastly,” Pixis comments, with a hint of sympathy in his tone “-and you led those men up and down that mountain?” - admittedly, like Erwin, he is curious. You’re young, _too young_ really, for the kind of role and accolades you had, and whilst they afforded you with as much respect as they could give, the older men were exceedingly curious, but so far, Erwin had been the only one desperate enough to get close to you.

“Mm. Me and Sahtar, but mostly myself - if only because our bodies are slightly more adapted to that sort of thing. We’re from the Mount Jasmah village, you know,” - no Erwin did not know, but made a mental note to talk to the Vice Legate more. “-Jasmah’s the second largest mountain in the known world, and my father made his business guiding and recovering pilgrims trying to summit it to commune with the Gods or find peace, or whatever drives them,” this was the most personal you’d gotten in a while, favouring the emotions of others over your own, and keeping things in casual, flirtatious humours. Commanders Erwin and Pixis, however, are not casual, flirtatious men, and so spilling your guts felt almost natural.

“So our bodies are used to the altitudes of death zones, but I was better suited to guide us down the Devil’s Backbone, so I did,” you shrugged. “-We would have died otherwise, no one would be sending a recovery team that high. The base was on the _actual_ tallest mountain, base camp is 2,500 metres and the locals call it the Gates of Hell. The only scalable route is what gets it the name it has,” - the names were entirely unsettling, but when you mention base camp, and then the actual estimated height of the mountain, surpassing a bit over 8,000 metres, had Commander Pixis whistling in a low, appreciative tone.

“And they stationed your base there? Goodness,” Pixis commented “-what a terrible deployment, I must admire yours and your men’s resilience, though. That is some feat,” - Erwin is silent during this, but you just look away a bit uncomfortably.

“It’s how I became the first fighting woman in the army,” you replied shortly “-but the point is, it gave me and my boys the unique one to one experience of titans in the field in a manner different to most who had only ever engaged in long-range combat, so they gave us the subcategory of specialist crew, and shoved us on the year long titan program so they could make us get here or die trying,” - at this, Erwin feels himself frowning without really meaning to. It feels like there’s some things you’re leaving out, because you’re usually so forthcoming, but he sees you open your mouth as though to add to your words, but then close it again with a short sigh.

“There’s other reasons, but that’s the official one you’d get trotted out to you if you ask Ministry,” you grumbled.

_Other reasons?_

“I think I understand,” Pixis responds “-there will have been politics behind it I’m sure.” There always is, and you just nod mutely, looking somewhat troubled for the first time in a while. Even when you recanted the story of your forced recruitment at the hands of the old general, you hadn’t quite looked so troubled during it, just a bit bitter.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you say, and to Erwin, he really doesn’t - even with all you’d disclosed, you’d been careful to avoid mentioning your original role and how you’d gotten into your country’s armed forces. Which is fine, Pixis doesn’t need to know, but it feels very much like the more they learn, the more questions there are. If you had to scale a death mountain just to be considered a soldier and not a whore, what in the name of all that is holy did you have to do to become a commander?

Strangely, the thought of finding out did not excite Erwin Smith, but rather, he felt his heart sinking into his stomach a bit.

“Hm,” is all Pixis says, before falling silent. The man is as sharp as a whip and knows for a fact there’s things you’re avoiding, but the unexpected body language of his peer - the Survey Corps commander, and how he carries himself in your company did not go unnoticed, even if it was just as simple as a hand hold. Erwin doesn’t really hold hands with anybody, to be honest, and when exerting appropriate manners and custom, he’d only ever extend his arm out on the rare occasion he’s been in the company of a noblewoman for whatever reason. It’s a little thing, really, but as much of a drunk Dot Pixis is, he doesn’t miss a damn thing, and changes gears in such a way it catches you severely off guard.

“I’m sure you can regale us sometime,” he turns his head to look at you both, and then simply says what he’s thinking. “You two seem close.”

Close enough to exchange stories, yes, but his tone seemed to imply more, and you know it - it is more than an innocent observation. You feel your mouth wanting to move, but nothing quite comes out. Thankfully, Commander Erwin comes to the verbal rescue, as he’s quite used to Dot Pixis and isn’t one easily phased by his forwardness towards him, they are almost friends - after all.

“Naturally, we’ve been having regular meetings in preparation for her visit to the interior. The MPs are working with us, but she’s under Survey Corps custody on the advice of the Premier,” Erwin’s answer completely avoids the true nature of Pixis’s accusation, whilst simultaneously addressing it. He is, of course, about to challenge this in a way that’s not too insulting, because while the man may be older, he certainly isn’t out of touch. He is not blind to the electrifying atmosphere between the pair of you, and he had known Erwin a long time, enough to know his body language was different to his usual.

“Commander Pixis,” you find your words, and quickly put aside any reservations you had - if this was Zachary, you wouldn’t have acted like this, but the man seems more personable than his stoic nature betrays, you had gathered that much from your first meeting. “I’m afraid all of the talks I’ve been having with Commander Erwin have been something of a bad influence,” in a surprising gesture to both men, you throw your arms around both of their necks, having walked side by side. Erwin tenses on instinct, before untensing. Pixis, however, does not react save for a raising of his brow and turning his head to look at you.

“I think my open Vaziri nature is rubbing off on him terribly,” lip struck into a small pout, a glimmer of mischief in your eyes, the hope is that your casual nature deflects some of Pixis’s observations or at the very least, distracts him from it. “-and I must apologise,” you blink and then make a light show of looking somewhat sheepish, about to pull your arms back. “If our intimate natures are strange, do feel free to tell us off if we’re a little much. It isn’t malicious, but I do forget how precious you all are about that sort of thing, and I’m quite terrible for it,” - this gets a short, hoarse sort of chuckle from the older man, who you now notice smells faintly of whiskey now that you’re leaning into his space a bit with your face, though your arms are still around both bemused men.

“Pff, if a beautiful woman wants to throw her arms around me you won’t hear any complaints from this old man,” Pixis disregards it utterly, his hands firmly locked behind his back, whilst Erwin keeps his hands at his sides, and finds himself fighting an urge to have his hand slither around your torso and do the same, and instead, makes himself mirror Dot Pixis as best he can.

“I dare say the…accommodating lot of your nature has gone some way to making the soldiers feel a bit more ease in your presence at least,” the Garrison commander concedes, as he is surprisingly in tune with the gossip of subordinates, he knows more than a few have trained with the Vazirans, or had made some attempt at trying to relate to them.

“And you’re not that terrible,” Erwin says, his lips curved into a rarely seen smile. Your actions had diffused the tension that had followed from Pixis’s observation of your closeness, as intended.

However, it certainly wasn’t forgotten.

“I suppose a less serious commander - or Legate - rather, is a breath of fresh air if nothing else,” Pixis murmurs, more to himself than either of you. “Certainly, I cannot remember the last time I’ve seen you quite so optimistic, Erwin.”

Erwin doesn’t immediately respond to this, but the pair of them seem to be quite content to leave your arms where they are and walk indoors until you have to release them both to get through the single file doorway.

“You can’t fight for anything if you don’t allow yourself to hope for anything. The bombardment rifle was more than I expected,” Erwin admitted, because in truth, his ‘seeing is believing’ mentality had held him back from expressing much more than cautious yearning, but now, he feels free to hope, and more validated than he’d ever been before. The burdens of the death count that plague the Survey Corps had always sat heavily on his shoulders, and even now, they continue to, the difference being that now, it at least felt a little bit easier to bare.

“Shit,” you draw out the word “-if you’re hard for that, wait ‘till you see our fucking grenade launchers.”

* * *

The rest of the day is spent keeping busy with your men, and briefing them about the visit into the interior - and being as rambunctious as they could be, they needed a warning. The fact there's significantly less of them, tragically, does make it a bit easier to contain and monitor their more rowdy behaviour once they'd be let into the cities, but you felt a need to be ever so sharp when it came to this matter. First appearances mattered, and you didn't need the civilians to be any more guarded and mistrustful than they might be by their own isolationist nature. You're very aware of the demeanour your men give off, and having been with them when they'd pour into city taverns and wreak casual havoc in the cities of Vazira, you were keenly aware of just how much shepherding they need. 

To their credit, they understand your desperation for all of this work, because they would not merely be men, or just soldiers. They were emissaries, ambassadors, a _shining example_ of what it means to be a proud member of the nation of Vazira and they need to damn well act like it. 

You'd even been careful to remind them all, quite abrasively, that you expected a certain level of decorum not just in the cities but around the female soldiers, of which you'd noticed more than few tossing glances at Ryka, and even some of the others. Now, you weren't about to be a hypocrite and tell them not to fraternise, but, you did instil the fear of the Gods in each of them.

"-if I catch a hint of a whisper of anything less than the most Goddamn utterly fucking gentlemanly behaviour, you do not have to worry about what our darling devilish hosts could do to you because it wont be _half_ as unpleasant as what I'll do to you if I get to you first. I don't need to remind you that our alliance relies on our hosts good graces, do _not_ piss away the respect of the Eldians because you want to get your dicks wet," your sharp tone echoes so loudly in the trainee barracks at your men that it actually rings out into the corridors, but you're firm, and clear with each of them.

"This doubly applies to the civilians, now, you know I love a good night of whoremongering as much as the rest of you--" which earned a series of cheers and various laddish sounds between chuckles and hoots which you silence quickly with the sound of your hands slamming firmly against the closest trainee bed, which was currently taken by Reza.

"-and I know we're all dying for a bedwarmer, but I fucking mean it, _best behaviour_ when we're going into the city. Don't make me make altar boys out of you," leering forwards a bit, you see them nodding through their smiles, but they know that you're utterly serious. There is no Magnus here that you can work your way around or pull rank on using your ministry connections, there is no getting around the MPs either with the same way you had managed with the chief of police in the Vaziran capital, and you were keen to drive that home. Nonetheless, they swear themselves to best behaviour, but it's Amir who cheekily pipes up in the back of the room.

"Fine, best behaviour, but you're more horny than all of us put together!" which earned a serious of loud hoots and snorts, and your brief glance at your Vice Legate earned you nothing but a helpless little shrug, as if to say _\- well, he's not wrong, is he?_

"Ah, shut up," you said, with a definitive huff, punctuating your statement by picking up a piece of scattered, unwashed laundry that was placed on Reza's bed, and throwing it as hard as you possibly could into Amir's cackling mouth as you turned to leave.

"Little shits, the lot of you!" you holler, though, with your back turned, there's a little smile on your face despite it all. You did, briefly, contemplate falling asleep in the trainee barracks, if only to surround yourself with their familiar chatter and the comfort of their snores. Admittedly, you'd perhaps been in the titan fields for too long, because as disjointed as the 4-5 hours sleep you'd all routinely get whilst doing a rotating watch, you had adapted to it in lieu of having someone in your bed. There was a lustful, deep, sensual comfort you would draw from the presence of someone in your bed, certainly. Pleasure made you feel human in the best kind of way and gives a brief respite from everything else you have to deal with, and a sense of control that you had stolen away from you as a child, naturally, but there was something else too. Something primal, and comforting, that had been taken from you a long time ago feels like it's momentarily found its way back to you, and encased you in something soft and reassuring that you only ever drew from those who didn't have any expectations of your ability to lead them. It's why you're perhaps considered the worst of your men. At first, it started as making sure they were staying out of trouble, and not treating civilians poorly whilst whoremongering down the local brothels. 

However, considering how you'd been recruited into the armed services and the years of dealing with Umman, you had a deeper respect for prostitutes than most, and you could be considered the most ravenous of the men solely for the kind of delicate attention you would afford them. The honeyed words you'd exert on most others are not spared just because these women are paid for a service, but rather, you empathise that they have a largely thankless sort of life and have to find a way to bend and please to a new person's will every other night. You absolutely adore surrounding yourself by beautiful things, certainly, and that's enough - but for a lot of your battalion, it does look ravenously desperate you're willing to throw down a fair sum of coin for the company of a woman you've doted on for most of the night. What they don't know is that, you lean backwards on each brothel bed with an easy smile and open arms - ' _We can do everything, or nothing. I paid for your company, nothing else,'_ \- and while it would be strange at first, some would give a short sigh of relief and simply sleep in your bed and often, that was enough. Their soft bodies and inviting arms were enough to dampen the rawness of having to fight constantly, in every capacity of your life. Some would feel bad considering the sum of coin and give themselves to you utterly, and you were known for having a bedwarmer constantly for the sheer comfort of not being left alone with yourself. 

On a particularly good occasion, there may even be some who returned your lust and service you with fervour. You shivered a little, recalling the spritely young woman from Azhi, who had looked up at you with impossibly wide, large, glassy brown eyes and an awed smile while her chin pressed lightly on your lower abdomen with an almost predatory smirk.

_'My oh my, the Young Wolf herself - I'm going to make today a night you remember the next time you're in those frigid mountains.'_

Gods, you missed whores.

Right now, even warm thoughts weren't really helping, though. The empty officer room at the end of the day felt particularly grim, and your guard had been relieved of duty as the need for it felt a little less necessary now that you'd established a real sort of trust with the Eldians. It was surprising, but welcome, and told you that they trusted you to be directly across from their commander's chambers and that wasting soldiers to guard you was utterly unneeded, at least, in the soldier's quarters anyway. The cautiousness of the MPs was understandable, at least, and being guarded in the city made a little more sense.

It did, however, mean you were cripplingly alone, and didn't have somebody like Arlert to talk to you until your words slurred and you fell asleep. Often you're one to toss and turn, admittedly, you hadn't had a peaceful sleep since your exit of the titan wastelands, after all, you'd lost tens of men. Good men. Their loss is a sharp knife in your chest and ever since you and your men had been plucked by the Ministry to engage in the anti titan program in preparation for all of this, the one on one with titans and the few you'd slain yourself has reawakened grim memories that had seldom been touched in nine or ten years, as you'd had many bloody battles and skirmishes since the incident at Mt Pashtan. The fresh horror of seeing your men in the teeth of titans and being too slow and limited by your gear to try and cut them out of the beast's mouths had you drenched in sweat most nights.

The nightcaps with the Commander had gone some way to helping, drinking before bed was becoming something of a habit, though.

The words _'you seem close'_ and _'this is inappropriate Legate'_ ruled your thoughts and stopped you short of knocking on the man's door. You could go down to the trainee barracks, but you had no way of explaining yourself, and the last thing the remainder of your men need is to know just how much of you this expedition to Paradis had ripped out of you. As a rule, you do not fraternise with your men, either. Ever since Umman, you had not, and would not ever share a bed with them in such a way. You were the one to hold their faces and rub their frozen cheeks and eyelashes when they faced a frosty death, but who would do that for you? When your men were shot in the chest by the enemy and cry out that they want to go home, you're one to put their head on their lap and gently tell them that they are home, and to remember the last meal you all shared, until they pass with a agonised smile stuck on their features when the light leaves their gaze, but who does this for you? The men love serving you _because_ this is the kind of caring and heart they get from you, but they do not quite know how to give it themselves. In truth, these men, as open and as warm as Vaziri are, true, emotional comfort is a little more rare and you often feared that trying to seek it out would just make you look _weak_ like a woman succumbing to their _womanly emotions_ and _hysteria_ even though you'd had stomached far more horror in your short life than most men twice your age. 

The thing is, with numbers so thin and with such a shared agony for their lost comrades, they probably wouldn't have thought any less of you if you asked to sleep there, but as real, human, touchable and down to Earth as you are, you have to draw a line somewhere, and be the impossibly strong commander that they need. You have to be _the Young Wolf_ or whatever it was they were calling you nowadays - and handle the burdens and weight of loss, blood and battle, because if you can't, how can you expect them to?

So, you tried to sleep early, knowing full well how restless you are.

Tried.

The soft mantra of all the names which had you remembering these fallen men did not lull you to your uneasy sleep like it often managed to, instead, you toss and you turn. You feel awake behind your closed eyes, even though you're so tired your awareness feels utterly low. It's been nine or ten years since the expedition to Mount Pashtan, but all the talk of it, and the unimaginable loss of most of the Fourth Battalion sat on your chest like a weight that just got heavier and heavier with each heaving breath you took. 

You'd pull down the large jumper and wrap your arms around yourself, concentrating on your breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. In Out.

You'd even considered going for a run again, you'd done so already, but on your worst nights, like tonight, you would run until your legs buckled and wouldn't carry you anymore, until your knees scraped the ground and you felt your body releasing everything inside of you. The grounds were empty, and to be honest, nobody stopped you or even really batted much of an eyelash, there was the occasional curious soldier or member of Levi's squad keeping an eye on you, but right now, running until your body breaks down feels like the only option. Classic physical exhaustion is the only way you can force yourself to sleep sometimes, and it's something Sahtar had long since gotten used to, but for outsiders, it could be seen as a little strange, but added to your list of quirks. Most assumed it was a health related pattern, considering how limber you are and how much more acrobatic your sparring style is, it isn't questioned much, so nobody really thinks you're running from your inner bedlam. 

But even you have to stop sometimes, and in those moments, all of your burdens catch up to you, and threaten to crush you in your quiet, solemn times. Occasionally, though it happened much less often now, your fingers would reach out and flex and mime out your old hobbies as though you're seeking the tiny, small comforts of the things you would do when you needed to comfort yourself after a particularly vicious day with General Umman, but the small, pathetic little joys you used to find in life seem so far away now, because they were things you used to take happiness from back when you were innocent and sinless. A lifetime away.

_Taptaptaptaptaptap_

Despite being from a hot, desert climate, the sounds of blizzards hitting window glass is one you're quite attuned with from your times in the snow-capped mountain outposts that ministry was so keen on deploying your men to. The sound of icy hale hitting the glass filled your ears. Rain upon glass and harsh weathers is usually quite soothing, but all it does for you is raise goosebumps along your arms, neck and back. The more you try to concentrate on sleep, and your nightly mantra, the more and more it felt like that noise was coming from inside the room itself, the tapping becoming more obstructive.

_TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP_

You twist a little bit, eyes closed in a feeble attempt to get to sleep, and drown the sounds out as white noise, but you can feel yourself sweating heavily, and a vague sense of nausea in the back of your throat. It was enough to make you feel sick, but you swallow down the bile in your throat audibly until the tapping becomes so incessant that you wrench your eyes open and look to the doorway of the room. It's closed, and there's no one for you to call on standing outside, to go and get you water - but your skull just feels so heavy, like it's being weighed down by a head cold. 

A chill comes over you despite the unimaginably hot sweat you're in, but it's a feeling you're too close to, one that you are unable to let go of, no matter how far away you seem to get.

Your eyes flicker to the room corners on instinct, only for your skin to crawl when they settle on the leftmost, shadowed side, half-obscured by the small set of wooden drawers. Swallowing thickly, you watch the small space, where a pair of long, thick legs are drawn up into a tight ball into a mop of downward black hair. It's tied in a thin, black, low braid and the head it belongs to is tucked facing downward into the upward knees, which are clothed in several layers of garish, rotten neon that are patched with dirt and worn by age, held tightly in place by frost and ice. The flashes of dark skin you see are a shade of ashen grey, and the familiarity of the blue and green coat the figure is wearing makes your blood run cold in your veins. You shiver in your bedsheets, and try to will yourself to turn away.

You feel your heart twisting and your stomach absolutely churning when the realisation hits you like a freight train. 

_'H-hey.... Sen....set?' -_ a soft, aching, sound warbles out into the silent room, vocal chords stretched and straining like a beggar left out during the Long Drought who hadn't had water in days. 

Nonononononononono -- your hand flies up to your lips, the back of your hand flat against your mouth as a strangled sound leaves your throat, voice cracking in the room.

"Fuck!" is all that escapes as you shake your head from left to right, trying to push the image out of your eyes and your mind.

_'I .... really....liked our ....cabin by the river'_

Heat built up behind your eyes, stinging the most in the corners as you squeezed them shut but found yourself unable to break free from the familiar, crackling voice that was now encasing you from head to toe, tightening around you until you felt a pure sense of claustrophobia, as though you're being buried beneath the weight of all of your ghosts.

' _I....am....still up here.'_

"Fuck you, I know that," you whispered miserably, feeling warmth sliding down your temples as salty tears escaped and the angle of your head had them rolling down either side of your face. Why this, why now? It's been almost ten years, but being this deep into the titan land, it was starting to dredge up old memories. Old, old, memories that time did not heal, that still ache and hurt and tear you down into the sum of your parts if you dwell on them too long. Even now, at the age of twenty five, they're as clear as the night before, and even though time ticks by for you, your ghosts don't age a day.

Solaire, your man who'd died in the Mount Pashtan enclave is still there, and you remember how feverishly you'd rubbed his face, desperate to help him. You remember how all of the men clambered closely and you'd practically thrown yourself into his lap, doing everything you could to keep everybody warm until nightfall. You remembered the way their blackened fingernails began dying and rotting and telling them softly not to look. You remembered how badly you wished for your father, and how, if you let the altitude get to you enough, you could hear the firm, echoing words of your father - though it seems warped now, like you could barely remember it anymore, it had been so long...

You remember Roloqan, and how you'd slapped him, and spat at his cheek and pleaded with him to get him to keep going. It had worked, but then, he didn't quite survive the descent afterwards.

_'I'm go'wna.. to marry you someday.'_

You felt your stomach churn, Roloqan was young, only three years older than you, a transferee - and by the Gods, was he besotted. It was unrequited, but for what it was worth - he was good, and kind, and sweet - and dear Gods, did he haunt you. They all did. You'd been in bloodier battles and skirmishes since, but the cruelty of the Devil's Backbone is seared into your soul. You remembered his delicate, almost red iris turning a pure, sightless, milky white as though it's clouded by the very snow and freezing conditions that had blinded him in the first place.

Wrenching your eyes open, you try to will yourself to sit upright, looking in the corner once more. Only, he raises his head up now, and you see a pair of bluish, frostbitten lips with painful cracks running through them, and ashen grey skin over usual sunkissed brown, but the features are a bit softer, lips more full.

You see yourself looking back at you, in place of Solaire, long black hair now matted with ice and knots, though the ambers of your eyes are that familiar, milky white that you'd seen in Roloqan's face whenever you tried to remember what he looked like. There's a painful click in its jaw, vocal chords scratchy and torn, as though you'd been screaming for hours and hours until it burns to speak. You feel a sensation not too dissimilar to the goosebumps raised by an uncanny valley facsimile of a true person, but it's you, through and through.

Its neck cracks slightly, like it's frozen to complete rigor mortis and that moving it was snapping and bending the bones in its figure which is kept in its helpless, fetal position trying to futilely keep a fragile sense of warmth inside. The painful, aching nostalgia morphs into something else, something distinctly unpleasant and loathsome as you looked into the blackened tongue that sat in its mouth.

**" _You should have died on that mountain."_**

You jolt yourself upright with such a force that your vision spins, naked feet hitting the floor, the cloak you'd fallen asleep in flurries around your body as you leap off the bed and make contact with the floorboards. Charging past the dark corner, you fling yourself into the corridor of the officer's rooms and slam the door shut behind you. Nausea is overpowering, The chill in your bones sets in deep, but just being out of the bedroom helps a little bit, you press your back up against the closed door, and quickly regain control of your breathing.

Fuck. 

Staggering to the officer's wash room, you splash some warm water on your face and manage to regain control of your wits enough at least, but the idea of trying to go back to sleep is distinctly unappealing. You consider going for another run - putting on some trousers and just bolting through the empty training grounds a few more times. You glance over at the door to the commander's room for a moment, and feel your feet moving yourself there before you really consciously think about it, but your hand hovers above the door, in a balled fist, ready to knock.

_This is inappropriate Legate._

_You two seem close._

This is a bad idea, but, then again, you'd always felt at least a little better and if nothing else, a little more distracted after your nightcaps and evening meetings with the man. That Hange had been around earlier - you'd heard her thundering steps and overzealousness through the walls easily enough. It's probably the report that she said she'd drop off, so that's surely reason enough - just to talk through it - the man's always up and working late and just from the crack beneath the door, you can see some light pouring through from his oil lamps and know he has to be awake.

Instead of calling through for you to enter once you've knocked his door, you hear shuffling sounds, and then slowly, it creaks open.

"Oh, Dame Legate," Erwin's voice is a little surprised, but lapses into a somewhat gentle tone, reminiscent of the last time you had revealed something personal to him. It was such a minute difference in his firmly confident tones, but one that you had trained your ear to now, because a man so stoic made you that much more conscious of his little changes, his little differences, nuances and ticks. It's imperative to someone like you, who spent the better part of their life trying to find the right way to talk to people, to get what you wanted and needed, particularly of men, to be able to do these things.

Especially when part of you just _wanted_ him, but that was not the most pressing thing on your mind, as you stood in his doorway, doing the best you could to swallow your nausea and hide the faint aftershocks of trembles beneath the long, winter, Survey Corps cloak.

"I can't sleep," you warble out.

It isn't even snowing outside.

* * *

Erwin stands in the doorway, still in full uniform as he was working late, like most nights. Hange had dropped off a thick report of what would be required in terms of supplies, production and overall funds from the treasury and what would need to be submitted to the interior, he's rather hoping that before the date to go and visit hits, that they'll have some firmer plans set for the recreation of the shell artillery for the gun they have to hand. The schematics - if they can arrive via bird, will take longer, naturally, since you'd crossed an apparent ocean to get there. It was more than enough for him to chew through, along with a few idle plans for the public relations front - admittedly not something he's cared enough about in the past, but things he's had to lay awake considering now that a foreign presence was here. 

The blond looks down at you and takes in your watery smile, and slightly dishevelled appearance. You're a little more fresh faced from having washed up and your hair is a little less matted with sweat after wiping down on a towel but you're drowning ever so slightly in the large, long winter cloak, and without the pauldrons of your armour, you have a much softer sort of appearance than when he'd first laid eyes on you. Your words are soft and sound a little feeble to your own ears, leading you to wince visibly before clearing your throat.

"I knew you'd be up so I thought we might go through Hange's report, if that's okay?" it's smooth enough, but he's focused on your eyes - as he so often is, and sees the tiredness overcast in them and how they seem ever so slightly larger than normal - swollen somewhat. Embarrassingly, he has spent enough time gazing into your eyes that he can tell when you're troubled, he wonders, briefly, if you've been crying - though you've carefulled to wash away as much evidence of it as possible. Your hair is loose and looks uncombed, but wilder than usual, giving you the air of a washed out fox.

"Of course, come in," he doesn't even think about it, opening his door to have you gently plod your way inside, the sound of your bare feet hitting the floor under the cloak. It's obvious you'd tried to sleep, and it hadn't worked, clearly - and he gets the feeling that you are not remotely interested in the report after a few minutes of him reading it aloud - if only because you'd been present for what was likely a long and detailed session with the engineers just to produce it. You plopped yourself down on his bed - rather than his desk chair, because it's softer and he's given permission for you to sit on it before.

He raises a brow, but doesn't particularly mind, he's just a little surprised.

"So, if we're wanting to arm all three walls, we're going to need to up gunpowder production threefold, which, our current saltpeter mines can account for sixty percent, assuming we reduce shell production for standard MP artillery, so we'll need to expand to the Hausen villages for more mines and submit a new expense report to the Crown, but it is doable," in all fairness, very little of this should matter too much to you, because most of it is what will have to be done on his end. He watches as your long, naked legs peek out from under the long cloak when you cross over the other, and it distracts him for a second - realising you're probably just in your sleeping shirt and maybe the jumper he had lent to you. 

There is something completely calming about the man reading out numbers and percentages, just hearing him talk. He brims with a casual confidence and reminds you of what a teacher might sound like, as he'd take natural pauses to explain some things without prompting, while you nodded and asked an idle question here and there.

"We'll draft your first contact with Vazira tomorrow and then go through some basics prior to your meeting with the Queen, though you have your own royalty so it shouldn't be too strange," he offers. 

"I'm not terribly good with nobility," you close your eyes, and let out a drawn out sigh. "- but being that you chose and crowned your own, I'll respectfully withhold my _mountain savage_ distaste for all things royal," taking a wry tone, as many had called you and your men the sort who didn't respect their betters due to the places you all hail from. 

"Thank you, we appreciate it," Erwin responds, almost snorting but instead, merely shaking his head with a faint smile on his face "-and I'll do my best to make you comfortable on your visit to the interior," - because really, that's all he can offer. 

You feel the bed dip a little and open your eyes in surprise, feeling him sit beside you, very much the same way he had the last time you had been invited onto his mattress.

"It's the least I can do. I'll admit, I was apprehensive and cautious about how much you could offer us - without seeing the gun fire for myself and how realistic reproducing shells and recreating the weapon might be, a good part of me remained skeptical. Seeing it today - I'll confess, I may have let my emotions get the better of me. I apologise if Commander Pixis's statement made you uncomfortable," - it had been playing on his mind, it seemed, as much as it had yours. You simply toss your head back, and give your best attempt at a laugh - because you don't want to show him how off kilter you felt in general, or how uncomfortable Pixis's observation had made you, but it doesn't quite play off the same as it normally would. 

"That? Oh, _Commander._ You are a sweet man!" you chuckled hoarsely, throat still recovering from the bad taste in your mouth and dryness your nightmare had left you. Erwin's eyebrows shoot up a little at this, but he feels warmth coursing through him quite unexpectedly when even now, in this miserable state you're poorly masking, you still summon up honeyed words that make his thoughts falter and leave him quietly unable to reply.

_'...Me....sweet...?'_ It throws him for a loop, as you manage to do to him so much - he's been called many things, a legend, a leader, a demon, a pragmatist, handsome - yes - though more so in his youth, but sweet? Never sweet.

"That is by far not the worst shit I've had said to me, you know half of my men think I'm fucking Magnus? - Ah, that's our Chief of Police in the capital, because of the amount of times I've gotten them out of trouble for bar fights, brawls and breaches of the peace?" at the look he gives you - which doesn't inspire much considering these same men are going to be let into the interior, you are quick to add "Though now we're down to a calm handful there shouldn't be any issues, and I've already warned them thoroughly - I know what they're like, they party as hard as they fight, but they know to be on best behaviour. My point is," you lean to his side, and make a show of raising your hand up from the cloak to give a playfully conspiratorial stage whisper.

Just because you felt like shit, didn't mean you had to show it.

"Being accused of being close to you isn't the worst I've heard. You know Ryka? The short, angry one of mine," at his nod, your lips twitch, though your smile is still rather watery and unconvincing. "Once he said 'You've gotten us out of trouble with Magnus so many times I'm wondering if your pussy is gold-plated,' - I mean, that's the level of bullshit cheek I get off my own men," you snort. 

Erwin feels his lips move, and no words come out, besides an _Oh,_ before a startled chuckle leaves his throat - surprising you, because it might be the first time you've heard him laugh. It's a deep rumbling noise, and he's the sort who laughs with his mouth shut and yet the sound sources itself deep from his diaphragm and carries powerfully across the room. It fills you with a rush of unexpected warmth, as it's quite a rich sound that you gather he doesn't do too much, because he seems surprised that he's laughing, and glances away from you.

Your coarseness is familiar to him, as he's quite used to it from Levi, but how casually crass you are on a day to day basis, unsparingly so, has done little to reduce your charm in his eyes. He finds you have a rustic sort of endearing and that your blunt nature is reflective of his own, yet bereft of all the elegance and trimming. It's straight to the point, and refreshing, like a cold glass of water on a piping hot summers day.

"You're quite close to your men, aren't you?" he asks, though it's largely rhetorical, the answer is an obvious yes, but he watches as your expression falters for a moment, before that hesitant smile comes back.

"Someone has to give a shit if they live or die, if not their families or their King, then at the very least, it should be me, everyone deserves someone," you said contemplatively - though arguably, sending them off to die when you cared so much, did that make you more of a monster, or less of one? "-I'll leave it to you whether it makes me more, or less, of a monster - to send these boys out to war, and die to get to foreign soil," either way, it made it hurt all the more when the memories of the fallen creep up on you in your quiet moments.

"I like the sentiment," Erwin says after a long, thoughtful moment of quiet. He looks at your worn face and frowns ever so slightly, humour disappearing slowly now. He remembers his original graduating squadron, and he remembers so many of the comrades that died after, and the idea of aching every dying soul, well, mourning is inescapable - and he too, is a haunted man, but to be that _someone_ to give a shit about everyone, at least, in your army, that's a heavy burden. Ordinarily he might even say it makes for a bad leader, but in truth, it's just because he's never seen leading done any other way. He has, however, seen the ferocious loyalty the men had, and he wonders, briefly, if with the exception of Levi and Hange's squads, if he could inspire such a loyalty in their hearts. Yes, he can inspire loyalty for the nation, for humanity - that has always been his goal, but to have men throw their hearts behind a person? That takes something special.

_No wonder you can't sleep at night._

"But it's a destructive one, you'll have seen a lot of death in your time, you'll see more the longer you lead," he doesn't want to sound patronising, but the moment the words leave him, he regrets them. However, all you do is glance away from him, troubled expression quickly revealing itself once more. Had it ever truly gone?

"I know that, _believe me_ I know that," a bitterness slips into your words that has him looking at you, contemplating reaching for you, as now personal touch didn't seem quite so strange as it once had. "-I've killed a lot of men, Commander Erwin. Probably killed more than you've had hot dinners. You fight titans, we fight men, and they're are far more men than titans," right now, anyway "-and I've done many terrible things to be the person I am now, as much as it might destroy me, I think having my men in my heart might be the only thing that keeps me human," and that's the crux of it really. The devastating crunch. If you leave that side of you behind, well, are you really better than General Umman?

Somehow, your murderous words do not inspire fear, or distaste in him - all it does, is make it far more apparent how deeply the losses you incurred to get here, and over your tenure in the armed forces, must run deeply in your veins.

"I've said it before, but I'm sorry for the losses you incurred to get here," more so now, after your words, than ever. You are not the clinical compartmentaliser he is, because you're sitting on his bed with overcast eyes, a troubled expression and more of your humanity than Erwin thinks he has himself. He doesn't think he could have been the kind of person you are, to be so heavily invested in each soul - because it would destroy him. He hasn't the strength - it's why he spent his entire life keeping people at a distance, because he'd learned that lesson from his father's death. 

You? You took a different lesson. The world hurt you and you let it in closer.

The world battered you and ripped your innocence and tried to make a victim of you.

No one saved you, so you became the hero you wanted, and dug yourself out, kicking and screaming until you had the helm of leadership in your fingers.

The world showed you cruelty, so you reflected it, but you kept a goodness in you, despite what you thought of yourself. It's a goodness in you, because Erwin thinks he doesn't have it, but by God he wished he did.

"But selfishly, I am glad that you did," Erwin adds - and he wants to say something like - _I'm glad I met you -_ but it feels like it might cross a line, and he's so rusty with interpersonal relationships that the last thing he wants to do is fuck it up, even if he thinks he might have already, when he whispered that your actions were inappropriate. So much of him was relieved when you knocked on his door, he's rather glad that you didn't push him away, because he's certainly regretted uttering it. Kicked himself over it, in fact. He was yearning for intimacy and he'd let his reliance on his emotional walls stop him from letting you in, in case he dared to _feel something._ And here _you were -_ feeling everything painfully and dramatically, ferociously and heartbreakingly despite being years his junior - ' _what a fucking coward I am,'_ Erwin muses - but he has to say something now. You'd come to his door, vulnerable and troubled, hiding it but seeking his company all the same. Most of your men are dead and as someone in a commanding role you can only be so exposed around them, even with how personable you are, you must be equal parts strong as you are empathetic. There's the Vice Legate of course, but he has to step in and be present in the barracks where you aren't - you can't pull him away just because you want to unwind.

"More than anything I am glad that you and your men got here, the deployment of the bombardment rifle has me hopeful for the first time in a very long time. We need more aces on our side, now more than ever, if the world views us as damningly as you say. And yes, I think I may have let that overcome me for a moment," - you give him a look when he says this - because surely he's not going to apologise for holding your hand? His people are being forced to cannibalise each other by their neighbouring enemy and Vazira gives them a real means of hope, and he's berating himself for....expressing hope? Joy? Happiness?

It's all so ridiculous.

"You know, in Vazira, we do this crazy thing when we're happy, and can't hold it in," you said, playfully conspiratorially once more. You stand up, and beckon him to his feet, which - surprisingly he does without question, but is a little bemused as you stand in front of him. He flinches suddenly, largely out of surprise, when you walk into his space, and curl both arms firmly around his torso, slipping under his brown uniform jacket and pressing the entirety of your body warmly through your Survey Corps cloak.

"It's called a hug," you started off sarcastically, your chin planted over the man's shoulder as he stands stock still for a second, before his hands stiffly move to behind the small of your back, like he isn't quite sure how to process what's happening, except for that his mind has gone blissfully blank for just a few moments - and he's not _thinking_ he's just _doing._

"We have those," Erwin replies, finding his voice and feeling his body relax. He feels a compulsion to shut his eyes when your face is so close to his, the side of your cheek brushing his ear as you look over his shoulder into the wall behind you. "It's just been a while," and he's not a touchy feely sort, generally. He feels himself briefly drowning, more so when he feels the weight of your body slacken against his ever so slightly - not completely, but enough that his arms instinctively tighten around you, like he wants to catch you before you fall into the sum of your parts. _God, how long has it been since I've held a woman?_

_...How long has it been since I've been held?_

"How sad. You know, I wouldn't think twice of doing this to my men. I've held them when they've fought well, I've rubbed their faces to stop frostbite taking their noses, and Gods - I've even stroked their hair as they died," but who does that for you? Erwin wonders, if there's even an answer to that. He feels his fingers pressing into the cloak so much that he can feel the indents of your muscles through a thin layer of clothing and lets warmth spread through him in earnest as you push your hips and chest into his body. A fiercely carnal side of him relishes in just the primal enjoyment of something feminine giving him voluntary touch, and feeling it against his own body - and this part of him overwhelmingly takes over as he inhales the scent of your hair and ensnares all of his senses.

"And you're not even allowed to show happiness? What horse shit," you can feel his heart pounding against your chest, but you ignore it. This is extremely forward, and the very definition of too close, but it's just an embrace - and surely not inappropriate. You can be close - and in truth, you need to be, and pay little mind to the man gently inhaling the scent of your hair or how firm his grip becomes. There is a certain comfort in his grip that reminds you sharply of Sahtar, though the tension that exists between your bodies is entirely between the two of you. Erwin cannot say it's that he's _not allowed -_ it's more that it isn't expected, or part of his image, but right now? Image doesn't matter. You're drowning in his chest and the two of you stay like this for a long while, and strangely, it is as peaceful and as comfortable as all of your silences in each other's company.

People want to be wanted, men especially so - because they're conditioned most of their lives not to, the need is ever present, and always behind a wall of masculinity and bravado. It is something you have always had little patience for, because why waste such a fleeting existence denying the things that make you human? 

"I'm not very close to people," is all Erwin says to your words, which leaves - well, _nobody,_ to do this "-so there's never anybody to show it to, in defence of my frigidness," he openly acknowledges it, but he just feels you sigh with your entire chest against his body, heaving slightly before you sink your fingers into his back just a little more, squeezing just a bit.

Why isn't this awkward yet?

_Why does it feel so right?_

"Then my terrible Vaziri nature will have to continue to rub off on you," you murmur.

_God, please rub off on me --_

He dismisses the thought violently, because his yearning for this touch continues to try to slither away from innocence - to something inappropriate.

"-because I needed this," you sigh against him, and pull your head back a little, which brings you close - too close really, to his mouth and his nose and his eyes and all of those handsome, immaculate features which had rendered you quiet more than once. His smile, as rare as it is, had managed to leave you speechless in the past, and with good reason - he is positively stunning, more so up close. "-and I'm a terrible woman who hasn't gone longer than a week without a bedwarmer, I must confess something, Commander Erwin, I--"

Men want to be wanted, you remind yourself - all you had to do was not... spook him, like last time. Now, he's not quite the soft thighs of a woman nor does he have the gentle touch of your bedwarmers but the firmness in his grip and his repressed nature reflected your own needs somewhat in the sense that you're both incredibly backed up and over-stressed, he's no brothel wench but he's the closest thing you've got - and right now, it's all you want. He's the only person you really know here, and he's been good to you, kind to you, and gentle to you, far more than you'd expected any place swarming with devil's blood to be. 

"I cannot fucking _stand_ to be alone with my own thoughts," - the surprisingly vulnerable admission, dashing over him like icy hale.

**Y O U S H O U L D H A V E D I E D O N T H A T M O U N T A I N**

"So thank you for letting me in this late hour, and shooting the shit with me. I sleep better after our talks, because I cannot abide the fucking silence," you breathe out slowly and he sees a vulnerableness swimming in your eyes and on your features. If someone were to open the door there and then, the intimacy would have been overwhelming, because the way you two are looking at each other - _really looking -_ is more than a friendly embrace. It's desperate and yearning, on both sides, for an amalgam of reasons that would take so long to try and explain that it doesn't bare thinking about.

"I understand, Legate," his voice is low, and delicate - a whisper, because you're so close you can feel his breath and smell it on the breeze, its warmth tickling your lips and nose.

_He might be the only person here who does._

Commander Erwin's ghosts haunt him too.

"You can stay in here while I work, I'll be awake a little while, if you fall asleep, that's fine - your room is close enough," neither of you lets go, though - and now - it's starting to feel like one of you should.

Neither of you wants to, but it would be too easy to break this tender moment with pure carnality and put his lips on yours - and as much as he wants to, while you're sharing a rare, tiny window vulnerability to someone and deign to choose him to do so, he doesn't think he could stomach himself in the mirror afterwards if he did. It would feel far too much like taking advantage, even if all he wants is to fall backwards onto the bed and feel you above him, or God - just see if you're as scantily clad as he thinks underneath that borrowed winter cloak, and run his fingers up the length of your soft, naked, dark legs.

"Thank you Erwin," 

He hears himself be called commander so much that every tired moment where you slip and call him by his name feels so surprising yet so natural, maybe it's because it's the way he loves how it sounds in your mouth, the way you roll certain letters, and the familiar, honeyed nature of it washing him in a sense of closeness that he doesn't have with many people anymore.

"It's quite alright," 

He calls you by your first name - and you catch it, feeling him let go slowly. 

You sit back down on his bed, and watch him work - with him occasionally reading aloud, asking you things - until your words became gentle slurred tones, and your eyelids became too heavy to stay open - and then, you feel the sensation of exhaustion and tiredness take over, drowning you in the scent of ink, fresh stationary and shaving oils and all the warm scents that reminded you so much of being in his grip. Your face was colliding against his sheets, body curling up on the mattress without you even fully registering that you had.

Erwin doesn't even realise until you stop replying, and your breathing evens out. He looks up from the thick, tightly bound report, and places it on his desk with a thoughtful sigh, reclining backwards in his desk chair.

"You delightful pain in my neck," he murmurs "-what am I going to do with you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( A/N: God I hope there's enough build up that this isn't too OOC? I'm trying real hard to pull it through. I really am. Writing emotionally unavailable bastards is hard~ especially between longgg asf shifts at a shitty job, if you're enjoying it, pls R&R, and take care of yourselves for me. #ERWINSIMPGANG ))


	11. Sleepless Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((( oh look it's a minichapter, but I hope you uh, like it - I've got a few days booked off next week so I'm saving my creative juices for that but I wanted to complete this scene for reasons you will.... hopefully enjoy)

_Chapter Eleven_

**Sleepless Knight**

The commander is in a mild predicament now. You’re curled up quite comfortably on his bed, on top of his sheets and largely covered from collar to foot in a green winters cloak. Your fingers were intermittently clenching and unclenching a bit - like trembling twitches that didn’t know if your hand wanted to ball into a fist or not. Even in this state of sleep and evened out breathing, your features are drawn into a something of a frown, and he’s stuck wondering how he was meant to get you to your own bedroom. Yes, he didn’t mind that you’d fallen asleep - he’d stated he was fine with it more than once, but looking at those tired, slightly bagged eyes and tension filled slumber, he feels bad - the idea of waking you seems almost unconscionable.

Lifting you is utterly out of the question, if you don’t drag half of his bedding with you, it could certainly be received wrongly if you woke up during it. Briefly, he contemplated just swapping rooms for the night - which is certainly more comfortable than taking the floor. He had been mulling it over long enough that he’d actually gotten changed into his sleepwear, a set of plain, grey cotton slacks and a matching, loose long sleeved shirt with a faint blue trim. Normally he might feel a little odd, changing in the same room as a woman, but with you fast asleep and time ticking on, he changes while he thinks.

After thirty minutes of ruminating and packing away some of his books, he knows he’s put it off long enough because he’s feeling tired himself. Erwin walked over, slowly extending his hand on your shoulder and nudging you a bit, with some small regret. Your mouth has fallen open slightly, and he can tell just from the rhythm of your breathing that you’re in a deep and much needed sleep. About to swap rooms with the Dame Legate entirely, he pulls his hand back - only for those eyes to blearily open, looking sightlessly in his general direction.

“It’s time for bed, Legate,” Erwin’s tone was gentle, and barely above a murmur - he’d hoped the sight of him in his pyjamas at least would set in and you’d awaken, realising how late it was. It would make it a lot less awkward if you woke up fully, and got back to your room - he’d even help, if it looked like you needed it, and walk you to your bed.

“Mmnf-fell asleep?” your words are heavily slurred, your accent a note thicker than usual and your voice an octave deeper and softer. On instinct you roll over to the direction of the soft, male voice, feeling your body try to become alert, before going comfortably slack when the scent of ink and stationary hits. The blurry sight of blond and the bookshelves against the wall acclimatise your sleeping but ever wary body to where you are, but your eyes are still filled with sleep and blurriness that made them shine ever so slightly more than usual. Instantly, the commander feels quite rude for having awoken you, even though you’re on his bed. It's a ridiculous sort of feeling, but you had this way about you - where when you spoke to somebody, you could make them feel like the only thing in the room, or the most important thing in the world. Admittedly, the commander found himself falling for it a little more than he would like, perhaps because in such a high position that he's in, and with his general emotional unavailability, he hadn't had this kind of attention levied on him in a long time. So much so that his mind had still struggled to digest the thought of you returning his wandering eye and admired his figure - in fact, part of him had dismissed the remark utterly as something you'd said just to dissolve the tension. However, even in your sleepy state, he feels this intensity behind your attentions when you turn and mumble up to him.

“I can help you get to your room,” Erwin offers kindly, trying to ignore the way your dark tresses cascaded down one half of your face and toppled down the side of the bed to hang over the edge in natural waves. When you’re splayed so naturally on his pillows like that, it feels just a little worse trying to get you up, and the way those topaz eyes of yours catch the light of his oil lamps manage to make you look quite enticing, even with the winter cloak covering your body.

If you had to be honest with yourself, even as sleepy as you are, the idea of going back to your bedroom and your quiet space is distinctly unappealing - because what if you go back and just see yourself staring back, frostbitten lips, black tongue and all? Or more of your demons, as you had scores, and scores of them racked up in your young life. You have no desire to confront them and in fact, your bones physically ached from having been woken up so soon from such a deep sleep. You can barely make out Erwin’s form, and have to blink hard a few times to readjust to the light and the fact he’s wearing something other than his uniform. It sets in, in that moment how late it is, even though the commander still looks as buttoned up as ever, it’s a nice look - if only you weren’t too exhausted to appreciate it.

Now, you didn’t want to push the man, as much as you wanted to taste him and _break_ him, it seemed a lot further back in your thoughts than it usually would be and wasn't at the forefront right now. You’re shattered and a bit frazzled, and the sensation of not having a warm body next to you hits like a brick. You didn’t want to taint this moment, but admittedly, you’re at a low point. A low, tired point - where the idea of being face to face with your past is so unwelcome, that it feels like a worthy risk to just ask the laced-up commander himself for his company tonight. After all, the closeness has been acknowledged, not just by the commander - but others, and in a strange way, it felt like it might have validated it a little, because Erwin did not push you away.

_Please don’t push me away now this time -_ because there isn’t anybody else. Maybe the Wagner girl if you could find her, but you knew she wouldn’t be able to provide the sort of comfort that being in the embrace of a peer felt like. Someone who could understand why you’re running, even if they don’t know the exact nature of all of your demons. You needed somebody you didn’t have to explain it to. If there was anybody on this island who came close to understanding your troubled nature, save for your own Vaziran men, it would have to be this man - whom you'd slowly bared more of yourself to each night and vice versa in a hamfisted attempt to bridge this massive canyon that decades of isolationism caused. Everybody seems to acknowledge you've a closeness with the man, so what more is there to lose? You don't want to come on so strong that you push him away out of shock like last time, though, so you put the ball in his court. In truth, subtlety in this sort of area isn't your forte, though in your days as a barely-recognised brigadier you had certainly gotten your fill of recon missions from older, more facetious and traditionalist legates who had sent you into the lion's den, and learned how to honey your words and manipulate yourself through difficult situations, subtlety when it came to what you wanted was always a little lost on you. Upon ascension to ranks far higher, and gaining a reputation of legend and infamy, you had embraced growing into the kind of woman who knew what she wanted, and _got it._ You'd spent long enough toiling just for the bare minimum of respect that you'd developed a low tolerance for time-wasting when it came to interpersonal relationships. You could bide your time in battle but life was dangerously fleeting, and you already had a graveyard of regrets. 

_I don't deserve to ask this of him, though,_ you muse, as never once had you felt entitled to anybody's comfort, it's why you'd pay for it - just like all of your men would - and this time, you were offering nothing in return. Someone like you probably deserves to be haunted by all of their ghosts, but you're only human, and even someone as strong as you needs to quell the fury in your head, and silence the demons that rest at the back of it. You'd be the first to say you don't deserve it though, and in the past, you might have tried to manipulate your way to the solace you're seeking - if you were truly shitty, you would have thrown your sacrifices in his face. So many of your men died here, and the commander couldn't even give you his bed and his arms? - But the thing is, so much hinges on the kindness of your hosts and, Commander Erwin had been so unfailingly gentle that you actually couldn't bring yourself to do it.

_Terrible people deserve terrible dreams,_ you think.

“Chnn-I stay here?” you mumbled, trying to blink yourself awake. At first, the commander just assumes you’re still half asleep, until you repeat yourself a little clearer and you’re looking directly up at him from your position on his bed. There is something startlingly honest about it too, because absent is your typical smirk and come-hither grin but instead, it's just a flat question with a sense of earnestness that throws Erwin off just a little.

“That's alright, I can take your bed tonight, then,” the Commander withholds a sigh, only for you to let out a low, tired groan. _‘Nothing else for it,’_ Erwin muses, it’d be the least he deserves for stealing you away from what seemed to be a deep slumber - and if nothing else, he is at least a gentleman. His bed is definitely comfier than the one he'd sat on in your room, which had gone unused for so long that he's not surprised that his conditions are more comfortable.

“Nn-o, no, I mean, can I -- can _you_ stay?” your voice clearing a bit as you wake up a bit more. For a moment, Erwin isn’t sure what you’re asking, because it’s time for the pair of you to sleep - he could take the floor, naturally, if it came to that, but he furrows his brows a bit in confusion. It’s only when you mumble up to him that your words begin to make a little more sense. You’d thought twice about it, but in your tiredness, and having the sensation of the man accept your embraces at least - surely it meant you’d gotten a little further with him? At the very least, he touches you back now, and had embraced you back even after what Pixis had said today, about the pair of you being close. Was close bad? Did it have to be? Did it matter? Did it have to matter so much? You'd been through so many whorehouses in your time, and had so many strings of bedwarmers that you can barely remember any but the notable ones, the _people pleaser_ types, the ones who want to say they fucked the _Young Wolf. -_ the only other memories you truly cling on to are the sensations of warmth, heat, softness - and the soothing rhythm of another person's calming heartbeat against your ears, or how you'd use their thighs to drown out the sounds of your own critical thoughts, opting to swim in pleasure instead.

_“Doesn’t….hafta be ‘nnappropriate,”_ you murmur up to him, a soft pleading in your tone that is seldom ever heard. You decide to take your chances, but perhaps be a little less forward than before, as this is less about wanting the man, and more about needing the man. If you could explain it to him in a way that didn't shatter your ego, it might not be as overwhelming as the last time you'd tried your luck. In this moment, Erwin’s own words hit him with tremendous force when you say that, recalling the fiery, tingling sensation of your finger against his neck, the suaveness of your hand effortlessly undoing his under shirt’s top buttons before he realised it. _This is inappropriate, Legate -_ the statement that had been haunting him since he’d uttered it. It dawns on him what you’re asking, and he recalls your miserable little confession from earlier - _I cannot fucking stand to be alone with my own thoughts_ and your mention of a bedwarmer as a constant presence as a matter of requirement. He’d find humour in the request, if his mind didn’t immediately plummet into the gutter - which again, he attempts to dismiss, because these thoughts are becoming intrusive.

Only a short while ago, he’d refused the thought of putting his lips onto yours because it felt like it would be taking advantage of you whilst you presented so utterly rawly to him. This should be the same, he thinks, but the difference is, you’re _asking_ for it.

"Sorry," jerking your head away away to look anywhere but Erwin for a moment " 'M just being a little shit Commander," and naturally, you're still trying to play this off, still trying to make it seem just as lighthearted and consequence free as every other time you'd flirted with someone in the barracks, or the man himself. When Erwin thinks to all the playful giggles and cocky smirks, and how you'd practically flounced out of the room like nothing had happened when he rejected your advances, he cannot help but think that the way you sound right now is worlds apart from the confidence you'd exuded so far - it's night and day, in fact. 

There just seems like there is something so intrinsically wrong about somebody begging to stay in his bed, a beautiful woman at that - that the commander cannot help but feel a little strange. He’s searching for any sign of you joking, because the question makes his thoughts come to a screeching halt while he tries to digest what you’re asking of him. He’s a decisive man, not one to flounder around flummoxed and uncertain, he is a man of striking precision, so he wasn’t going to ponder it too long. What helps him decide is when you tilt your head back a bit, stretching with a few cracks of your joints.

“I can pick up my pride ‘n go, 'snot a big deal,” your tone hoarse, and a little wry - like it doesn’t matter, even with that wonky, half-assed grin you're giving him, like it's still just a game. Erwin knows better though - because you don’t look as sure of yourself as you usually do. You’re definitely pushing your luck but there’s something about the tiredness beneath your eyes and how you’d looked when you’d washed up in his doorway that made him take pause. He didn’t even think twice about letting you in, even with Pixis’s words hanging in the back of his mind. True to form, he’s about to offer an elegant reply, until he sees how the light casts itself on your skin when you tilt your head back a little to stretch more, exposing a long, graceful neck.

Erwin wonders, briefly, why something so mundane is so terribly distracting to him, but then - he catches sight of something else. Across your skin in a faint, but clear line the more he looks at it - a deep indentation that has pierced through the entire thickness of the skin as though it had a thin, straight layer cut clean from it, making the pigment off in a shade of reddish-brown that sticks out differently on the rest of your evenly bronze skin. It’s long, and entirely too straight - a purposeful scar that had taken enough skin that it looks like it’s permanent, like so many of the ones on your back that looked like you’d had your flesh torn to ribbons for decades. This one looked more intentional, though - more ordered, not something cast by a flexible blade that bent like a whip but like a firm, hard slice which violently set his words off of their original course. His elegant answer morphed into something that felt like it bypassed the iron filter from his mind to his mouth.

_What…. happened there?_ \- He wonders, but doesn't have the heart to ask, not right now, anyway. Not with the way you're looking at him. Reaching out to touch you feels much less foreign and strange than it had at first, and he's momentarily taken by the thought of reaching out for your neck and brushing his fingers along the scar to feel the texture of it, before he thinks better of it - remembering how his own skin had felt like it was on fire when you had touched him in such a way, because really, as much as all of Erwin is seldom touched by others, the neck is an especially rare sort of place. He doesn't even touch it much himself, save for when he's quickly running a razor blade across it. He doesn't want to step over his own boundary, even if it is ridiculously fragile, and somewhat of a silly one, if considering just how much distance you two had been bridging with each other.

_Is she really looking at me like that?_ \- With so much uncovered, shameless yearning that for once, wasn't coated in a thick layer of erogenous flirting. For once, it really doesn't seem like a joke, nor did it seem like a hamfisted attempt to get him unbuttoned and unravelled, though the fractal of control Erwin had over saying no to that was as fragile as sheet glass - if he was honest with himself.

“You can stay,” he barely formulates his thoughts into anything intelligent before those words blunder out, unsure of what possessed him in the moment. He’s a man of decisive action though, and sticks by it - even though Levi’s words were ever present, that _these people would do anything for allies,_ he cannot help but take one look at you, splayed out so openly like this, your throat exposed and your eyes pleading with a desperateness for respite that Erwin thinks you resemble a lion with all of it’s teeth taken out. Surely this wasn’t an act, it was far too radically different in purpose and tone to how you’d been when you’d saucily stuck your finger down his collar and began popping his buttons open. He wonders, briefly, how you can have so many wildly different facets to your being, on one hand, you're surprisingly good in one to one combat, abrasive and crass, but you're also unyieldingly passionate, someone whose heart belonged deeply to each of your men - being equal parts soft as you are hard. 

For him, for someone who does not serve under you, he has to wonder if this is the softness that he gets in lieu of everything your men have. Your men have time and shared experiences and traumas that bond thicker than most forces on this world can, and Erwin doesn't have that.

So, is you, pleading softly up at him in his bed, in the small hours of the night, the softness that he gets to see? Him, and nobody else?

The thought excites him a little bit, if he's honest with himself. He gets this little piece of Vaziri honesty that, if he had to guess, not many got to see. Maybe the Vice Legate did, as you seem close and have similar roots, but, in a pinch - when you had a _choice,_ you knocked on _Erwin's door,_ not somebody else's. You could have sought the company of your own brethren or any number of the soldiers - Wagners included - whom had expressed some interest in your company, but no, you're here. Even after Pixis's words and the critical, cautious gazes your closeness garners, you're still here.

On this night, Erwin accepts that you're getting close to him, and that Pixis's words weren't so much of an observation as much as they were a prediction. 

Yes, you were getting close, but tonight, you were getting _closer -_ if this was part of the game, Erwin's losing - and is surprisingly content with that fact.

"I'll take the floor, if you just need someone nearby," it's a difficult thing to phrase, because he doesn't want it to sound critical, or like he's demeaning you somehow by articulating the true nature of your issues and why you'd turned up on his door in the first place. Yes, you'd been honest about it to him eventually - how you cannot stand to be alone with your own thoughts, but the candid nature you admitted in would always sound far different to how he would say it, and the last thing he wants to do is patronise you in your moment of vulnerability. He just has to try and keep some sort of little distance between you, because if he doesn't, he knows he will not sleep - because his mind will be dwelling too much on your lips, your eyes and your body. He would never, ever do anything untoward, but, it'd be that much harder for him to get to sleep just laying beside you like that.

_And I am not kicking this woman out of my bed,_ he muses - he might be estranged emotionally from most, in fact, many would call him emotionally unavailable if they had to try and sum him up, but he's just a flesh and blood man who, at the core of his being, has no desire to throw out a needful, coarse little beauty that had planted themselves in his bed with a level of absolute need.

His offer to take the floor in his own bedroom, however, confuses you - and it isn't what you asked, so you furrow your brow and give him a look of bleary wonder.

"Why floor? The bed is big enough," and that, is when the penny drops for the commander. It sinks in now, in its entirety, what you are asking. It isn't a side-arm embrace or even the full body contact that you'd drowned him in earlier that he had relished far too much for a man of his age and station, no. You want to share in the intimate space of the man's bed, the very bed where you'd bared your souls a little, that's also the place he'd quietly and rather guiltily embraced more sordid and carnal fantasies that always left him feeling a little out of sorts afterwards. Lately, his mind had been straying to the way soft rivulets of water coursed down every dent of your muscles, scars and bust - finally filling in more of the desperate, salacious, missing gaps in his imagination of what you looked like under your clothes, even with the miserable excuse for a bustier, it had sent his pulse racing in his private moments.

In an ironic sort of way, you manage to seduce the man more effectively by accident, than when you had tried to do so intentionally - and it only makes the commander think he's that much more of a frigid, touch-starved old pervert who, in truth, he believes you can do _far better_ than. The words _'anything for allies'_ circulate in his mind, occasionally, but, the way you're looking at him right now - it feels so real that he could almost feel his own mask starting to crack and slip ever so slightly more.

"I don't know if that's a wise idea," it comes out as a murmur, because he cannot remember how long it's been since he'd shared a bed with a woman, or anybody, and he's wholly uncertain if he'd ever done so purely in a platonic sense, where there would be nothing of a sensual sort happening. Truthfully, he's still not sure if that's completely the case, at least with you - since you'd been rather physically forward with him in the past, but there's definitely something more pleading and earnest in your motivations now than when you'd had your finger in his collar. He doesn't reject you completely this time, though. He just doubts is this is a good idea at all - it could get messy, even with the Crowns being responsible for the alliance, the last thing Erwin needs is the validity of his statements questioned at the security counsel just because he's let you into his bed.

"I'll be gone before you even wake up, nobody has to know," some of your silver-tonguedness does slip in, but this is far as it goes, - and this, this actually resolves it for the blond, because there's no bravado in those words now, they're just a little miserable sounding, and purely exhausted, with the same, muted tones he'd heard from so many of his soldiers, and even his own mouth, after coming back from a scouting expedition with nothing but bodies to show for it. You're using negotiation to try and get what you want, but it doesn't make it less earnest.

" _Please,"_ you brush some of your hair out of your eyes, and he can see with more clarity now just how tired you are, and all of a sudden, he remembers all the nightly reports from the guards he had stationed when you'd arrived. Every night, without fail, they'd hear the sounds of restless sleep, and had to start stationing female members of Levi squad just so they could crack the door open and check on you. That had been ever since you'd gotten there, and then you'd had - well, who knows how long, out in the titan wastelands since you'd left your boat and hit solid ground. 

You really could just be that tired.

Perhaps he's not _so_ heartless, as many might assume - and in truth, he feels like it's the least he can do. You don't need to try and be shitty about trying to worm your way into his bedsheets by throwing your sacrifices in his face, because, surprising you - Erwin reaches the conclusion himself, with a worn but gentle ghost of a smile. 

"I suppose it's the least I could do," he exhales - because he's searching for reasons for this to not be inappropriate in his own mind, and is frantically dismissing his own intrusive thoughts. It's too close to his own little perverse little fantasy, which he'd gone out of his way to try and make feel realistic in his own mind, which is now massively to his detriment, because all he can think of is your dulcet tones, murmuring _'All this just to help me sleep?’_ and those full, shining lips curving into a salacious smirk. "You went through a lot just to get to us and haven't had a decent night's sleep since, if this is all that takes, then I suppose I can give you at least that," and in truth, considering the amount of things that the commander had sacrificed and given up himself in the pursuit of humanity's future, is taking off his indomitable mask really such a big ask? In retrospect, it seems so small that he can't see the harm in it, if nobody is going to find out - why shouldn't he? You're ready to give him everything and then some, you came with weapons, open arms and transparency - to the point of telling him how you'd gotten into the army as a concubine just so that he'd understand the true nature of Vazira, good and bad. All you wanted back from him was to be treated with the respect your position had, and apparently, for him to offer some form of physical companionship - as you allege you just cannot cope well without it.

The words _'I'm a terrible woman who hasn't gone longer than a week without a bedwarmer'_ weigh heavier now than when you'd said them - it seemed that Vazirans or at least you, were physical to the point that it's almost a necessity for you to have some form of companionship just to sleep well, and that you drew some sort of distraction from them away from the demons that haunt you ever so persistently. Right now, it's seeming that you want the commander to be that distraction - and he would be lying if he said part of him wasn't strangely flattered by it. 

After all, you're young, and beautiful - and with the kind of respect he's seen you command, he's certain that you could have anybody you want. Even the older Wagner - the brother, whose name Erwin cannot place in the moment, as much visible dislike as he shows, he's seen the young man turn bright red when you levy attention at him in a playful effort to cool down his irritation.

"Thank you," you utter, you resist the urge to say something flirtatious, and simply unclip your winter cloak to fold over the bed frame - which you don't want to get caught under the man's body while you sleep in case it tugs your collar and wakes you. It does make him falter though, and glance at the door - before deciding he should just make sure that it's locked from the inside, because this situation was odd enough, the last thing he needs is to try and explain it to an outsider if somebody had an emergency and came banging on his door. At least if it's locked, it'd buy him a moment or two to get himself together.

He can see now that you're in his jumper and the long white sleep shirt he's accustomed to seeing, and yes - with very much nothing beneath that, your legs splayed out on top of his sheets. Clearly, you don't seem to think much of it, pulling both legs up to slip into his bed covers now that he'd granted permission. His chest tightens a bit, because what he's agreed to finally feels like it's making the full impact it wasn't making previously - and now how big the bed is doesn't feel like it means all that much. 

_I'm not going to get a lick of sleep tonight sleeping next to that._

It isn't a resentful thought, in truth, it's an amalgam of contentment, acceptance and nervous excitement that brims under his cool facade. Self control isn't something he has much of an issue with at all, but he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't be awake for hours behind his closed eyes, trying not to think about the beautiful woman next to him. The pair of you had only just breached and explored the boundaries that had been set with closeness and personal touch, but Erwin now crawling into his bed, in his sleepwear, beside you - that's such a leap that he can feel his heart beating a little faster just from you scooting to the far side of the bed by the wall, in order to give him space to crawl in. At first, he thought he might preserve some distance and sense of modesty at least a bit by one of you sleeping above the covers, but with you peeling the sheets back and looking at him expectantly, this thought dies before he even tries to voice it.

He knows he's been caught looking at you more than once, and it's all out in the open now, but he still feels quite degenerate for having his eyes rake over every inch of your bare flesh, because you're quite needy seeming in this moment and not in the brazenly sexually forward way you'd presented so far. 

Erwin wishes, for a moment, that his predilection towards your legs wasn't quite so damn obvious and easily stirred - _those damn legs really do go all the way up -_ because they derail his thoughts with far too much ease when you weren't even intending to - and that little nightshirt wasn't helping. It's not nearly long enough and when you're sat on his mattress like this, covers open to invite him in and his eyes rove to your thighs - _oh those thick, hourglass, soft-looking thighs -_ before he can stop them, his breathing catching in his throat for a moment. It all happens rather quickly, as he drags his stare back to your sleepy face and does his damned best to squash down his intruding memory of his own deplorable little fantasy - and your little cries of ' _Help me sleep Commander,'_ because right now it's far, far too real and the last thing he wants is to make his inappropriate yearning your problem when all you want right now is to rest.

He contemplated briefly offering you some trousers, but he doesn't think he has anything spare that's quite soft enough to sleep in, and you hadn't asked for it - so it'd probably just make you feel a little strange and weird and that isn't what the commander wants at all. That, and the stirring urges he had which you had casually made oh so much worse were _his_ problem to deal with like an adult, not yours. All you needed to focus on was getting a solid night of rest, and personally, between a choice of a night of carnality or actually getting a little bit more of you that's deeper and buried under your veneer of wonky smiles and coquette nature, he would choose the latter.

_Why not both? --_

He grimaces a bit to himself, because the stray thoughts do make him feel just a little bit more degenerate, though outwardly, he seems so very unbothered, clambering into the bed and setting the oil lamp to the side. The flame is low, and he gently puts it out, coating the room in darkness that's lit up entirely by streams of moonlight from his open curtains. You're pushed to the wall as far as you can be, just to give Erwin space as he's got a rather nice, broad shouldered frame, which is more noticeable in his sleepwear, because it's designed to hang a little loose but shows the lines of his muscles as he moves and has no other layers on top of it to dull his form. 

You feel the bed dip a little under the man's weight, and turn your head on his pillow to look at him as he slides in somewhat awkwardly. 

"I didn't have the right to ask you to do this," you mumble, your eyes half-lidded and weighed with sleep, but your golden eyes glow persistently under the beams of silver light that paint over the large bed. Erwin leans back, both of your bodies making the largest sort of gap that they could without him rolling out of the bed, both of you laying on your backs somewhat stiffly. It feels strange, though not in a bad way - it's a mixture of odd, irregular and somewhat unnatural feeling, though the atmosphere itself is comfortable, Erwin is tense all over.

"It's alright, I agreed, didn't I?" he says, his voice lowered to a quiet rumble, trying to encourage sleep and not get too loud. At least the darkness and the bedcovers gives him some respite, so he only has your face to really look at in the dim light -until you turn on your side, anyway, to look at him more directly. 

_How did we get here? -_ He thinks. Erwin's now in the position of ignoring the tight, uncomfortable feeling in the base of his gut because it feels so wrong when you're looking at him like this - so damn _gratefully_ and as though he hasn't allowed his lecherous stare to wander all over you in this inopportune moment. He does his best to also ignore the sensation of your legs moving under the sheets, and what he knows is bare flesh grazing his trousers as you shift onto your side slightly more comfortably, your knee against his leg. It was odd to think that only a short while prior, that he seriously entertained the thought of pushing his lips onto yours and shunned it away quickly because you seemed far too vulnerable for him to be comfortable with it, only to be laying next to you like this. 

Not too long ago, he thought he might accidentally put his foot in his mouth and cross a boundary by saying something as mundane as _'I'm glad I met you',_ that same boundary seems non-existent now, as the only fragile remnant of it is the bit of space afforded between your upper torsos - as now your legs seemed to be brushing against his just a bit.

"Try and sleep, Legate," he says, as coaxingly as he can manage - because even that half-lidded stare, under the moonlight - even with the distance of your faces on the large pillows, it's still just a bit too distracting, and Erwin cannot quite bring himself to close his eyes when you're gazing at him like that. "Is it always this bad?" his curiosity gets the better of him, but he realises you're probably too tired for much extended conversation - and prove this with your simple, blunt answer.

"Terrible people deserve terrible dreams," you close your eyes, the image of the commander and his handsome face seared into your eyelids, his unphased expression now comes across as less unnerving in its unreadability but rather, is comforting, because you can fool yourself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, he's the kind of man you may be able to tell anything, and not see disgust.

Maybe.

You have to tell yourself this because you're worried that if he knew what you really were, he wouldn't be so forthcoming about letting go of his mask of frigidity. 

"Getting here has dredged up some horrible shit....so thanks for this," there isn't enough thank yous in the world for this, because you sourced great comfort from sharing a bed with someone. Anyone. Sex was a huge part of it but by no means all of it. Having somebody else there when you're having a more restless night feels like a little piece of reality, and if you really needed to, it was reassuring knowing there was somebody you could wake up and have talk to you until your frayed nerves would settle and you'd slip back into slumber, hopefully leaving your tense and troubled nightmares behind.

Your words make Erwin recall when you'd called yourself a _terrible woman_ more than once, in a few different settings. To tell the truth, as close as the pair of you are, physically and otherwise, he doesn't quite know enough to understand why you speak so damningly of yourself. You had, briefly, told him you'd slaughtered more men than he'd had hot meals, and he could believe it, but when you're in the army - and men are your enemy, not just titans, he can't quite see you as poorly as you see yourself. He did not think your grim duty was something that made you terrible, but he knows there's things you abstain from telling him - like what happened to that awful General you and your men spoke of. It's clear however, that you don't feel like you deserve the companionship you'd asked for, you had made that much clear.

"Whatever you need Legate," he chooses his words carefully, doing his best not to think about the sordid thoughts he'd enjoyed under these same covers "-I said I'd do my best to make you comfortable, and I stand by it. Even if it's..." he trails off, this conversation is odd enough, saying it aloud is even stranger. He thought that making this sound like he was duty-bound would make it all seem more appropriate and less intimate, but it had only served to highlight how unique the given situation was. 

"Even if it's this," he settles on that, because there's no other way of putting it that doesn't sound bizarre in his own ears - perhaps it takes a devil to keep the demons at bay, at least, for a time.

_What sweet torture,_ he thinks, feeling his hip muscles tighten involuntarily and a feeling of warmth building up in the pit of his abdomen. He can feel your legs moving closer to him, even though he's laying on his back, you have an instinctual urge to want to entangle them a bit, the way you would with most of those who'd shared a bed with you, but resist the urge, settling to just keep them pressed a little against his, trying to respect the modest distance - though it won't persist for long. You're sharing a bed, after all, but you just want the commander to not feel too uncomfortable.

As sacrifices go, this isn't the worse one Erwin Smith has ever had to make, but, it would be somewhat challenging all the same. He's more than content to let you sleep, but he has to contend with the sensation of your soft, bare skin moving underneath the covers in your sleep and how tight the feeling in his gut gets when you move closer. He keeps to the edge of the bed, trying to maintain a respectable distance - though he can feel you blindly pawing for one of his hands at least so that your hand can sleepily interlock with it. That was fine - he'd done that with you before, it just feels a little more intimate doing it in bed, but then again, so was everything.

You close your eyes fully when he says this, a small smile on your face. For someone self-confessed as frigid, it seemed that he's the sort to try and find reasons to justify not being so. Between how much his feet would find their way to you just on a day by day basis, and how much he invites you into his private space, it seems that at least some part of the man yearns for some sort of intimacy.

Something you're never shy to give.

"You're a nice man, Erwin," it comes out as a sleepy little whisper. As devils go, this one was quite lovely - everybody had been, and it didn't quite live up to the reputation they had with the rest of the world. There is something painfully wrong and yet so heartening for the commander when you say this, because he can count on one hand the last time he'd heard such a benign compliment said so earnestly - as far as he was aware, people had taken to calling him _The Demon of Stohess_ \- whenever his leadership came into question. Public opinion shifted often, as the scouts had been through quite a lot, but the kind of cold war decisions that fell directly on Erwin, and their consequences, were inescapable. 

He can't remember the last time somebody called him nice, and even though it feels wrong on some sort of intrinsic level, he can feel a warmth spreading through his chest just a bit, similarly to when you'd walked into his chest and drowned him in an embrace. He doesn't reply to your words, but makes a non-committal noise from his closed lips acknowledging it though, as he feels you squeezing his hand weakly under the covers. It feels even less like a true compliment when he knows his entire body is tight with sexual tension and that you've, for once, done nothing on purpose to cause it. 

"...Come closer so you don't roll off the bed, I don't bite," you murmur - resisting the urge to add anything suggestive to that, your words have him shifting closer, feeling awkward as he does so. His heart is beating uncomfortably in his chest, and his muscles are seized with an anticipatory excitement when you shift a little so that your face is against his shoulder - the way it had been when he pulled you in the first time, only, in bed - it felt that much more intimate. Everything did, by an order of magnitude that he hadn't been quite prepared for, if he is honest with himself. 

"And it's cold,"

What was logically just going to be two people in bed for the sake of mutual comfort was tangled in a whole slew of other sensations and feelings and he is far too tired and aroused to try and parse it. The latter feeling is a much more reluctant one, but every time he cools off just a bit, you do something that has his hips tense up and his skin heat up. Just a finger down his exposed his neck had been enough to set him alight, so this was a bit dizzying - in the best kind of way, though. When his palms get sweaty, he feels your hand let go of his when you turn on your side to face him, knee drawn up a little for comfort.

Thank God for the mercy of the covers to spare his wandering eyes, but now his imagination was running roughshot over him every time he felt the soft, bare skin of your legs brushing against his body, thoughts constantly wandering to just how naked and exposed you are from the waist down.

_Not now. Urgh. Not now. Don't be like this, it's pathetically indecent._

Erwin feels himself shiver involuntarily at the thoughts, he's not sure he could cope with the answer - but the direction his mind was heading in was making it incredibly hard for him to sleep, and more conscious of trying to spare some small distance between your bodies. Why can't he shove the thought of you bouncing on his fingers to the recesses of his mind, the way he compartmenalises most things? He's starting to feel like a little creep, especially when he becomes just so very aware of how tight his trousers are starting to feel around his hips, and is again thankful for the covers shielding the fact he's pitching a tent. It isn't too obvious right now - he thinks, anyway, that he's throbbing a little bit, because he can only feel little twitches beneath his waistband - something that doesn't have to be a big deal, he thinks, as long as he doesn't bother you with it, and he keeps his restlessly aroused thoughts at _bay -_ _and stop acting like a damn teenager--_

Erwin turns onto his side to face you, trying to lessen the urge to palm himself over his clothes for some small relief because if he does that, he really _would_ be an oversexed, shameless little reprobate - doing something like _that_ to himself while you were trying to catch some rest - it felt shameful to even feel so conflicted about it in the first place. So, he turns and faces you so he feels less like he could perhaps get away with it, as he would if he had his back turned, and hopes reality setting in is enough to cool him off.

He swallows audibly, trying to will his eyes shut, only to see a hint of those amber iris's staring at him with a smouldering, slit stare - even with the decent gap between your heads, it does little to dull the thick, and suddenly much more tangible tension that, for the most part, Erwin had assumed was entirely internal.

"Sweet dreams," - he hears you crackle out, causing his thoughts to completely shut down when the knee that you'd moved pressed innocently between his legs. Erwin is now painfully aware of the fact it feels like his heartbeat has dropped all the way down to his swelling arousal, because the throbbing feels even more persistent than the tension in his chest. Instinctively, he wants to shuffle back, but it would only draw more attention to his little - issue - and any thought of trying to pull away is dashed when that knee starts moving. It's benign enough, he can tell you're rubbing your thighs a bit under the covers, trying to generate some heat because he's vaguely aware that you get cold at night, but it just feels so purposeful. Equally, though, it could just be his wanton thoughts projecting needfully onto you - his mind becoming ablur with his distressingly indecent needs.

_Oh, please don't stop - don't -_

This can't - shouldn't - be happening, he bites back a groan in the base of his throat, there's no way you're not feeling that, he can feel himself leaking with desire, he's practically making a puddle of himself with precum and desperation - there is no way your naked knee isn't feeling that through his delicate cottons - God you're -

_You're making me ache._

He feels your movements to get comfortable slow down as your breathing evens out, and those eyes of yours fully close once more. Soon enough, you're earnestly asleep, and Erwin is awake behind his closed eyes, grimacing when you roll over and press your body into his hips, making him bite down on his lip in smothered frustration. He feels the warmth of your body press through the thin layer of his sleepwear, and sighs into the pillow with a sense of defeat, as the ache in his crotch progressed until he felt the tightness in his stomach settle into a deeply touch-starved, repressive cramp. 

Common sense dictates that he needs to turn around and have his back to you, but every visceral, primal part of him wanted to push against you, or at the very least, relish and enjoy the perverse sensation of your thighs and your rear pushed against his body innocuously. He wrestles with the feeling for a while, only for his morals to take a nosedive whenever you shifted in your sleep, brushing against his erection pleasantly.

He bites back another noise, but feels his lip swelling from the amount of pressure his teeth have put on it at this point.

_This is torture._

Even if he tried to get rid of his arousal when you're gone, it probably wouldn't even feel good anymore, because he's been edging for hours at this point and now it just hurts - he barely sleeps, but manages to get enough shut-eye that he doesn't stir when the mattress decompresses a little, and his door creaks shut by the small hours of early morning - just as dawn begins to break.

The commander wakes at around 6:30am - wincing when the sun gets in his eyes through his open curtain, and feels the persistent ache when he tries to move - letting out a short noise of discomfort. He feels like he's tremendously weighed down and possessed by the sharp sensation of his lower abdomen. Genuinely, it feels like his stomach has tied itself into a knot several times over, and it's something that Erwin has not had to feel, or endure, since - well, it's been so long he can barely recall, but certainly not since his earlier 20s and later teenage years, he thinks.

_Good God, she left me with a damn limp._

Uncomfortably, he can feel his pyjamas clinging to his joints from the sweat he'd managed to work up over the night, and as he looked down at himself, pulling back some of the taut pyjama bottoms from his hips and crotch, he visibly grimaces - letting out a long, shaky sigh. Looking to his left, and seeing that his bed his empty, he wonders briefly, if it happened at all or if he'd just let himself enjoy a particularly depraved, self-denial fantasy where he edges himself for most of the night because there isn't a trace of you anywhere.

Until he looks at his pillow, and sees a long, dark, wavy head hair - confirming the events of the night previous.

The commander leans against his headboard, cricking his neck a little and pressing the back of his skull to it as he lets out a tired, defeated yawn, wondering how on _earth_ he's going to limp his way to the coldest shower he's taken in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (((( A/N: so yeah posted this so I could plan a bigger update for the days off work I booked! Since I'm in lockdown, and it's very high pressure/long hours/shit pay, I'm not missing much by devoting my holiday time to this, but the interaction of reviews/kudos means a lot.
> 
> I also kind of wanted to earmark where the more lewd content comes in by shoving out a minichapter that grazes it because it'll intensify from hereon out when it feels appropriate to the romance, hopefully that's okay, and he's written alright, and this was to your liking - I also got to lay out another foundation of the legate too with more of her scars coming into play at least?
> 
> Man, I felt a little mean writing this scene but I wanted that c l o s e ne s s that he doesn't have with anybody else, and to be fair - the legate DOES love to push her luck, consider this a living example and just.. oh my god i'm the worst? I guess I just feel kind of iffy about it.
> 
> No one:
> 
> Absolutely no one:
> 
> me: im gonna blueballs erwin ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	12. Deserving

_Chapter Twelve_

**Deserving**

“Your system of grapples relied primarily on manual running speed and the retraction speed of your wires - which means without acceleration, you’re used to using gravity for your one to one combat,” Hange fixed her goggles, playing with your outstretched arm and running her fingers along the arm grapples which had been reattached to your body. To her, this seemed like very early draft ODM gear, which had quickly identified speed as an issue and hadn’t been in use in a long time. The Engineer Corps had been working heavily on the bombardment rifle, but also on the other weaponry and items that had been confiscated from you.

“It’s a miracle you killed anything, but between that and your fight style, it’s easy to see why you’re quick to adapt to the balance gear. I mean, it looks like you do that sort of thing already - so your ability to distribute your weight properly is quite natural,” she practically purrs this as her finger runs along the sharp hook, eyebrow raised. The way the ends of the hooks fan out like fingers upon being pierced into something is particularly brutal, but very secure.

“You can fish out a man’s guts with this, but for large titans, it’s a bitch and a half to have to scale them,” you admitted, exhaling slowly as you recalled your struggle with the 13 metre titan deep in the Forest of Giant Trees. Hange, surprisingly, doesn’t react to your observation about the capabilities of your Anti Titan Grappling Gear - or the implication from your tone that you’d observed this in the field, but Captain Levi is present, and narrows his eyes just a bit.

“A lot of your men adapt better to anti-personnel technique more than titan combat technique when it comes to the omni-directional gear, with a few stand outs who manoeuvre nicely with both,” Hange said, tone brimming with excitement, turning to the short captain now, with an expectant look. “-What’re you thinking?” - only to get a short, begrudging sigh from him.

“We’ll review in a few weeks, it doesn’t quite feel as natural to all of them yet and frankly a lot of this could be beginner’s luck, the last thing I need is to be mopping up Vaziri splatter because you,” he thumbs crudely at you “-move too suicidally for somebody who hasn’t got the time and practice they need with the ODM, the last thing we need is for the alliance to fall through because you’re hyperactive,” his tone is blunt and cold - causing you to raise your hands up with a too-casual surrendering motion and a smile that could only be called sheepishly.

“Shiiiit,” you say, with a cluck at the back of your throat and a natural appreciative drawl “-I’ve been struggling for speed for so long that it feels natural to jump without it. I’ve got a decent grip of when to avoid nosediving to the ground, but the gas tanks are - ,” you run your fingers along a canister at your side, a glint in your eye “- something I need a better feel for. The added weight is noticeable when I’m jumping and twirling, but there’s been so many times I’ve needed speed and just not had it, that the acceleration feels natural,” - you’d been put in the recruit’s gravity and weight distribution hanger for all of an hour before it was deemed a waste of time considering your proficiency with much more rustic gear, so Hange overrides Shadis with ease and has you moved. She insists on being present for you and some of your men trialling out ODM because she’s just plain curious to see how foreign anti-titan specialists handle their gear. There’s varying levels of success, with some stand outs - the Legates, are, naturally, very adept - even a big guy like Sahtar, who seems the ‘feet firmly on the ground’ sort - but since all of them had experience with the rustic grapple system of the Vaziri Anti Titan Program, it was to be expected - though Reza needed longer in the hanger.

“You’re using too much gas,” Levi bites out, scowling “- you need to get a feel for how much you’re using before you get approved for free use of ODM,” not that they’d be needing it, as far as Levi was aware, there was no reason for the foreigners to want to go back out of the walls, and it seemed to just be a favour to Erwin to allow the men training and use, but it made sense. If they would ever return, be it now or in a year, or longer, they’d need to know how to use ODM and not the grapple gear they came in with, which paled in comparison.

“Good point,” you concede - with all the freedom to zip around in between semi-supported jumps, you’d burned through four canisters in one day the moment you’d been let out of the hanger, keen to try the moves you’d tried, failed or struggled to get from the old grapple gear.

“You’ll get the hang of all that stuff,” Hange waves it off “ - that’s just teething issues, the moves you were pulling though - you’re a fast little thing with the right kit,” she pats one of the canisters at your hips with a light fondness. “-and you’re _good_ ,” she said emphatically “- you should get one of the seasoned recruits to show you some more advanced tricks in their off time, you’re a quick study,” - she had a few in mind to recommend, but it’s at this moment that Levi chooses to make his exit.

“You’re not the worst,” Levi concedes “ - but you still need your basics. Hey Shitty Glasses, I’m done babysitting,” he doesn’t even know how he got talked into this in the first place, it was far beneath his role to be talking through beginner basics, but Hange had needfully dragged him along. The logic being, she wanted a second opinion on the proficiency of specialists for her report and she wanted a quote from the captain, because it’d all be part of what gets fed back to the security counsel about the efficacy of the weapons and techniques the foreign emissary brought with them. “Just dump the report in my room and I’ll add to it,” he finishes, before turning to leave.

Levi hates to admit it, but Hange’s words an understatement - his criticisms were valid, but the way your fight style translated to ODM made you a formidable force. It wasn’t natural to have beginners take to it so quickly, but, very technically - he supposes, the Vazirans aren’t beginners. They’re just seasoned on much tougher, much more unwieldy gear, and, to be honest - if you and your men had their omni-directional gear when they ventured from the port to the walls, more of you would probably be alive.

“Hey, hold up a second,” Levi stops - surprised, when you’re catching up to him, gear clanking at your sides as you do. He begins walking when you catch up to him, brow furrowed with impatient curiosity.

“What?” he’s curt with you, but you brush it off easily.

“You’ve got a face like I shit in your beer since I got here, what’s your deal?” your tone is cheerful, considering the subject matter - and it came out of nowhere, with zero preamble. You got the sense that Levi is, in a lot of ways, a lot like you - just from the way he conducts himself, and how he talks. Granted, he’s a lot more serious seeming, and is far too straight-laced, his natural abrasive personality and unfeeling stare disconcerted most. For you, however, it’s somewhat familiar, and you find yourself entirely unbothered by his bluntness and vulgarity.

“I don’t trust you, or your men,” Levi doesn’t beat around the bush, nor is he one to socialise for the sake of it, and even now, it feels like he’s trying to end the conversation as soon as it began.

You, however, don’t miss a beat, and continue to smile.

“Well, with all due respect, fuck you Captain,” - this, actually, makes Levi bristle with surprise, as your tone is still quite bright, but is absolutely uneven when compared to your words - and rather than get offended on instinct, he keeps his mouth shut. “I told you the day I got here that we got-- “ your lips twist into a look of disdain “-volunteered, and packed off before we were ready, but we got here anyway. We didn’t know how you’d receive us or if you’d feed us to your pet titans on sight,” your cheerful tone slowly lapsing into something of a playful purr that still didn’t suit the words coming out of your mouth.

“We had no reason to trust you, but we came out on a limb anyway. I lost a _lot_ of good boys to get here, now - not trusting me is probably smart, I wouldn’t trust me as far as you could throw me,” you drag out the word _far,_ and make a point of speaking with your hands as you walk - ever the rustically charismatic sort, Levi gives no indication that he’s in any way swayed by it.

“But, my men are good men, who got convinced to come out here and die for us to get to foreign soil, and you don’t trust them? Do me a favour and keep that shit to yourself. They’ve done nothing but die like spare blood for a thankless sovereign and me,” you say, a grim little smile fixed to your face. “Don’t get me wrong, Captain Levi. I understand you. I do, but I will heavily resent anybody who doesn’t appreciate the full extent of my crews sacrifices to get here. It’s a thankless life in the Vaziran army, the last thing they need is an Eldian rubbing that in their face,” you lean your head back casually, stretching a little as you walk.

“Your dependability remains to be proven, but I can…understand that,” Levi offers begrudgingly - not in the least put off by your attitude, but somewhat respecting of it, it seems he’s of the belief that the Shiganshina expedition may contain information or something that should, in some way, corroborate what you and your men have been claiming, at the very least - Levi wants all the pieces first before he comes to a conclusion. At the very least, he trusts what he’s seen so far, and he wants to say he trusts the commander’s judgement, as he always has, but then again, Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen the commander get sweet on someone.

Levi also respects that it seems you have a deep and fairly obvious compassion for your men, which most in your sort of role do not have on the personal level. He may not be outwardly emotional, but the man is empathetic, especially to loss, because he despises the pointless taking of life - so you have some common ground anyway.

“But you make it difficult to trust you when you’re getting so close to Commander Erwin,” he’s one to call a spade a spade, but even still, you bristle a little bit at his tone. There’s something accusatory in it that you pick up on, even through his monotone.

“We’re trying to be allies,” your voice taking on a slight edge to it, just a little testy. What was it the Eldians seemed to have against interpersonal relationships in their ranks? A power disparity has potential issues, but surely who the commander fraternises with, isn’t anybodies business? Then again, just from his tone and how often you’ve seen Levi in direct counsel with Erwin, perhaps the two were a least somewhat close.

Levi, however, also doesn't miss a beat, and responds coolly.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" there's a good amount of snark in his tone, and you'd appreciate it if he didn't seem so casually derisive. "Don't insult me," he adds with a light sneer. The conversation had jumped straight into the guts of what he wanted to know, he's not one for gently broaching the subject. The truth is, Levi trusts the commander more than he trusts anybody generally speaking, and he wants to continue doing so, but he's a little shaken when he sees the man behaving just a little irregularly, and needs to know that this isn't to his detriment. The thing is, Levi is his subordinate, and as little as he gives a damn about general hierarchy, there is a certain level of respect there and broaching the subject with someone who makes art of his words might not get the captain anywhere. Commander Erwin has a fantastically annoying habit of simultaneously addressing and _not addressing_ the subject at the same time, by giving an answer, but not the one that he's clearly looking for.

You, on the other hand, don't seem the type to be so demure about your relationships, if how you were with the Wagners was any indication.

"I'm not," you wave it off casually "-I've just got a bad habit of mixing business and pleasure," you drawl, there it was - again, in your voice, that shameless, sultry enjoyment of all things viciously carnal in all too casual tone - like you're discussing the weather. Despite your tone, you do understand the core of what Levi is getting at, and unlike the commander, you do not cleverly obfuscate and avoid answering with an intelligent non-answer. The pair of you share some similarities, which, in your moment alone with the man, is more obvious and present, and as a result there's a strange sort of even playing field between you both.

_Don't bullshit a bullshitter -_ is the sort of vibe you got from him.

"-I see that this bothers you a bit. I'm just wondering why, Captain? We're consenting adults, and if you must know," your lips curving into a pout "-he did reject my advances a few days ago. The man has a sense of duty, and puts it above everything else if I had to guess," putting a hand on your heart with a playfully dramatic flourish. "Hurt my damn ego it did - but he doesn't want the validity of his opinion questioned at the security counsel meet in the interior, which - a conflict of interest I can understand," _but he let me into his bed anyway._

Levi feels a little relieved by what you said, though he doesn't know if he should be surprised or not - he had thought the commander was a little deeper under your spell, but it seems duty won out. "So - if you're worried I'm taking advantage of the man, well, I don't know what to tell you," you murmur, and saying it out loud did feel a bit ludicrous. The idea of anybody taking advantage of Commander Erwin felt like the punchline to a joke, he just isn't the sort to be so easily swayed, and Levi knows this, because he feels strange the moment you phrase his concerns aloud, but nonetheless, sticks to his guns. 

You did, after all, just admit to trying it on with his boss.

"He's not one to be taken advantage of easily, I wouldn't insult the man by suggesting it," Levi says sharply "-I just don't know your intentions - so I can't trust them. It's that simple," There's something to gain from trying to keep the commander's favour, that much is obvious, and it's at this, that you resist the urge to snort.

_He wants to know my intentions towards his friend? How cute._

"There's an advantage to Erwin's favour, yes," he notes when you drop his title, speaking intimately about him in a way he isn't sure you did intentionally or not. "- and as terrible a woman I may be, believe it or not Captain Levi, I do actually enjoy the man's company," you say with an easy grin, stretching your arms behind your head as you walked aimlessly with him, ignoring some of the curious looks from passing soldiers. Levi actually looks a little surprised at how honest and candid you are, you're blunt, certainly, but he viewed your flirtatiousness as nothing more than a cover for what you're really thinking.

It seems he may only be half right.

"I know I'm forward with most people, I haven't been touched in _months_ which is a lifetime and a half for me - so expect that," - this actually makes Levi raise a brow at how casually you state your needs, it shouldn't surprise him, but he hasn't really heard anybody talk so openly about their starvation of physical intimacy with such a playfulness - at least, not a woman. Men go on and on about it all of the time, and he's used to tuning it out, but you're jarringly needy and are not shy about expressing it. "-but humour me for a moment Captain, I do have my reasons," the pair of you stop outside where the ODM gear is hung up after use, and Levi watches as you clumsily undo various belts and buckles with the same level of inexperience he can only remember seeing from new recruits.

"Go on then - and hold still, you're not doing that right," Levi surprises you by walking forwards, it's the voluntary touch that makes you blink, feeling him unclip something at your hip with a clinical yet irritated impatience. "Unless you _want_ your gear to snap you in the chest," at this, you feel the belt around your front loosen, and sigh with relief, now able to undo it yourself as the heavy blade carriers and gas tanks begin to sag to the ground.

"I cede to the master of undressing, oh great king of undoing belts," you practically purr this out, which would leave most somewhat uncomfortable, but Levi is so clinical and quick that you don't even feel his hands on your body as he undoes your gear. "It was enough of a pain in my ass getting it all on, taking it off feels like a waste,".

"You're not getting free use of ODM without approval," Levi nips the direction your words were going in the bud "-and you're not getting that until you know what the hell you're doing, and don't need someone to help you in and out of it," he's churlish about it, despite you not asking, but it seems visibly watching you struggle and not do it correctly was enough to set the man off and force him to do it himself - if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, is something that he finds himself living by just as a rule of thumb.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," you say with a roll of your eyes which isn't malicious, more just playfully put out. "-But anyway, back to my point. I do enjoy your commander's company. Not that it's much business of yours, but, in my line of work - particularly with all the," you make a vague gesture with your hands " - many, _many_ men I've had to kill to get to this position, and horrible, nasty, downright deplorable things I've done in my time as a brigadier, I very fuckin' rarely get to do anything like a peace mission. Consider where I'm coming from for a moment, cap. Where I'm from, women don't get to be soldiers usually. Women get what they're _given_ \- and demanding more makes you an uppity bitch who needs a man to put you in your place. They gave me the role of Legate almost out of malice for daring to rise above my raisin' and get any power at all. As if to say, fuck you, you think you can handle that? Handle this. Try and be a leader of a bunch of men who'd sooner fuck you bloody and spit on you from a great height rather than listen to a damn word you say," you're carelessly frank as you say it - as much as you adore your motherland, damn did it have _problems,_ and Levi finds himself a bit at a loss for a moment.

"So I got meaner. I got more brutal. I started mirroring the cruelty I had to spend most of my life taking on the damn chin - and not to say I didn't start enjoying it. Part of me liked it - turning the tables after being underfoot for so long," at this, your playful smile becomes the unkind, nasty sort that is too toothy to be sweet, and it's this which makes Levi wary of you, but he continues to listen all the same. "- Having to roll over and take it in the ass for years from people who think they're worth more than me just because of how I was born, or the fact they have a dick. I took a lot of shit, and I gave it back twice as badly when I got power - an eye for an eye - if you have that phrase," Levi nods at this, but feels something deeply uncomfortable settle inside within him when he begins working through everything you're saying.

The phrase _fucked bloody_ and _take it in the ass_ did not sit well with Levi at all, not because the language used, but rather, because of what he'd overheard outside of the commander's room. You had skilfully avoided mentioning your origins, but you didn't need to, because Levi knew, and all it did was give him a horrific context that he did not want to have to consider, causing him to visibly grimace.

"I'm not a good person, Cap. Haven't been in a while. When I got forced to serve, I was ruined by my old general - who had no intention of doing anything but use me, if I went back to my village, who'd even look at me the same? I had nothing to go back to, and I spent so long with the men I just couldn't undo it, I did some unforgivable things I couldn't take back, and I couldn't go back and be some dainty, beautiful, unattached little maiden who could marry well. I couldn't do anything soft, beautiful or wifely even if I wanted to - and when we got here, we expected a worse reception. Seriously. You think I was joking about being fed to your pet titan boy? We really did expect a lot worse, and we're still so fucking grateful you came and got us out of that damn forest when ya did. We get that it's been so long since you've communicated with the world, and none of you know what's going on, and shit- after speaking to Erwin and your soldiers so much, you all really thought you were the end of the _world._ But when Commander Erwin looks at me - " you falter for a moment, and glance away from Levi for a moment.

_Shit. What is it about the way he looks at me?_

" - Like I've gone and given him the whole world just by existing. We only brought one large bombardment rifle but he looks at me with so much hope...shit," you curse softly, feeling your ears burn a little - why was this embarrassing to you? Normally your candidness plays in your favour, but right now, you just feel a bit warm and embarrassed in a childish sort of way you hadn't felt in a long time. "- No one's looked at me like that in a long time, maybe ever," a bitterness manages to wheedle into your light tones, and for a moment, it's too serious for your liking. "He looks at me like I've given him something beautiful, like I've done something _good_. I don't deserve that, but I'm human, and I want it. I like it. And in fairness, when I look at the guy, I see someone in a position a bit like mine, who has to do shitty things, and make shitty choices, but he doesn't have the few things I do that keep me grounded and human. But he's the reason you're trained so well. He's the reason we're alive and you could recover us, so I just want to dote on him - on everyone - but especially him, just a little fuckin' bit is that so wrong? Everyone wants to be wanted, and I just want to --"

This is becoming a lot more telling than you mean for it to.

"I just want to touch him the way he deserves to be touched - and I love surrounding myself with beautiful things, I don't think that's so bad," you exhale out slowly, and there is something indescribably sensual about how you choose to end that little confession, and it's more than Levi expected, but it gives him enough to chew on. Looking at you though, he wants to think you're telling the truth, and resists the urge to jerk away on instinct when he feels your hand land cautiously on his shoulder, while you quickly try to paint on a wonky grin.

"You need to lighten up a little about it all Captain, there's no need to be so serious all the time," you smile, but he doesn't dignify that with a response. "Not everything has a nefarious or bad intention behind it," - and now Levi is forced to have the image of you working the commander with your charm, openly touching him - it's a weird thought, because he's never seen the commander close to anybody. He is, however, just a man - a great man, but a man all the same - maybe it shouldn't be as strange to him as he thinks, and Levi should perhaps afford him _some_ human behaviour.

"It's not my business what you do with the commander," Levi says after a moment, as though judging your intentions as good enough without strictly saying so. " - the old man can figure his shit out himself, but don't make us trusting you a mistake. Got it?"

You squeeze his shoulder, and let go, turning to leave after hanging the ODM gear up in the supply shack.

"Understood," you chuckle, and with a great need to drain the tension, you turn to look at him with a mischievous sparkle in your eye that he does not reciprocate.

"Heh. You're a pretty cute guy aren't you Captain Levi? Worrying about my intentions towards the commander," you tease him lightly.

The look Levi gives you when you say this is positively murderous, before he turns away abruptly, and begins walking away silently. Levi Ackermann and cute do not belong in the same sentence, and if it were to occur, it certainly wouldn't be in earshot of the man, much less to his face, so he simply ignores it and stalks off into the distance, refusing to let himself be charmed by you even slightly.

He tries to ignore the fact you saw his true motivations for questioning you, utterly, because the idea of being easily read unsettles him deeply.

* * *

VIce Legate Sahtar is a quiet, dour and serious man, much like Erwin in that regard, but a lot less tied to his mask. He's got a surprising amount of patience, but his voice is naturally loud, booming and like that of shattering stone, echoing and intimidating most people within earshot, doubled down by the fact he is as wide as he is tall, taking up an entire door frame with the width of a mountain himself and every inch of it being made up by muscle, it's easy to see why he's not often approached by a lot of the Eldian soldiers. His eyes are a bottomless shade of onyx-black and when he sits across from Erwin in his office, the blond cannot help but feel the man makes the room feel that much smaller just by being in it.

"Just go over the basics, she's little patience for nobility," he steeples his fingers together and addresses Erwin, who stares at him evenly from over his desk. The commander had made a resolution to talk to the Vice Legate more, but in truth, the man wasn't terribly social. He does, however, instantly lend his ear the moment the visit to the interior is discussed, and more specifically, the Dame Legate. If Erwin had to sum up the man, he'd regard him as an attack dog, a fierce guard whose all teeth and fury, who doesn't need to do anything except growl in the direction of a threat in order to reduce it to a pile of ash. His loyalty is fiercely unquestionable, that much, Erwin is aware of - and he had only high praise for his superior, but would not shy from the facts when presenting them.

"Though we do have our own King, he despises being touched, and our rules may differ - I'm afraid her time at Vaziri court, while educating her on the intricacies and complexities of trusting _any_ kind of politician, left her with a horrifically bitter taste in her mouth for all things royal and noble," he says with a casual sort of grimace - indicating that this is a shared point of view.

"Understood," Erwin inclines his head towards the man, before reclining back in his chair a little bit. "She's a little rough around the edges, but it's nothing that has to get in the way of proceedings. Queen Historia is actually quite amenable," he offers, and this is the closest to a criticism he dares to get around Sahtar - but surprisingly, the man just lets out a large, bark-like laugh that would make a man of lesser constitution flinch from the suddenness, and just how much it manages to fill the space of his office.

"Rough? You're a man of pretty words aren't ya? She's as hard as they come that one, and has an astoundingly low tolerance for stupidity, which explains why she hates court so much," he snorts - and this earns something of a cautious smile towards the Vice Legate. So, as much as he reveres the Dame Legate, he's one to say it like it is.

"I'm afraid the intricacies of Vaziri court are lost on me," Erwin says smoothly " - but if politics across the ocean is anything like politics here, I can understand," to tell the truth, the man has an expert capacity to be a politician if he so desired, it was something he might have even considered once in his idealistic youth, before his father's death - it might even be the original trajectory his life would have been on if things didn't unfold the way they did, but now, as an army commander, Erwin can safely say he really doesn't enjoy the back-end bickering that happens with men in power. More often than not, the severely underfunded Survey Corps is usually on the receiving end of it too, at least when it came to a matter of treasury funds, but at least the crowning of the Reiss girl was changing that side of things.

"Ah. You understand. Of course you do. I find once men join the military, all that pissing around and pointless noble bickering becomes more and more grating, but that's usually because the people who get decide how you make ends meet are the ones who couldn't fathom sending their own sons into battle," he says with a grim look.

It seemed that politics across the ocean was very similar to politics in Paradis, at least, how it used to be.

All Erwin can really do is nod in agreement, it's depressingly accurate.

"At the very least, it's not quite as bad as it used to be," is all the blond can offer in that regard "-and you will find that the Dame's presence will more than suffice in the interior, and there's no need for a chaperone or any of the things you mentioned prior. She can be considered the sole envoy, along with you if you desire to be there, but it isn't necessary," what he's saying, without phrasing it, is that women's positions in Paradis are at least much more equal than Vazira, even in the stuffy capital which is brimming with those that have more money than sense.

"She'll like that," Sahtar said shortly " - she used to have to drag me to chaperone her into the court floor for audience with the Supremes when she was a Brigadier, chewed my ear off to no end about how pointless it was. Supremes are the only rank higher than a Legate, and are responsible for court marshalling and oversight on behalf of the Ministry of Defence and generally speaking haven't served active duty in years," he explains quickly, before scowling "-she _really_ should have explained all that."

Erwin just gives him a thankful look.

"I'll give you the quick notes," Sahtar said quickly with a put-out sigh. "There's Cadet, Lance Corporal, Senior Corporal, several ranks above that until you hit more substantial officer ranks like Lieutenant, Captain, Major, Brigadier, Major General, Vice Legate, Lord Legate and then - I suppose, the non-serving high rank of Supreme, which - I mean at that point you're veering out of the army and closer to the Ministry of Defence's inner workings," he says with a thoughtful hum. So far, he'd only heard of the General rank, and Brigadier in passing, but it just seemed to raise more questions, which Sahtar sensed when the man raises a brow - about to open his mouth.

"Dame Legate - a female title was pretty much made on the spot for her, and if you're thinking she's too young to go through so many ranks, you'd be correct, because she didn't. I don't know if she's regaled you with all that but you seem quite close," - Erwin resists the urge to physically react to that, but it seemed even the impassive and largely hands-off Vice Legate had noticed.

"She....told me how she came to join the services," Erwin phrases this carefully, but finds no polite word that still rings with heavy distaste because he can only picture a small nine year old girl when he says it, and the faint distaste oozes through when he speaks it "As a...concubine," a _child_ concubine "-but not much more than that," he finishes.

Sahtar's expression doesn't change, but he does lean back in his chair, reflecting Erwin's body posture, but settling his steeped hands across his broad barrelled chest and letting out a long, tired sigh that seemed to come deep from his very bones. He isn't sure why he's surprised you'd told the man - it's not like you were ashamed of your roots, but he thought you might be a little less forthcoming with a foreign power that didn't need to know all that. He can only conclude that as a result, you're getting genuinely close with the Eldian commander and the Vice Legate isn't fully sure he knows how he feels about that - not that he could do much, he muses, because nothing short of Hell itself ever stopped you getting what you wanted.

"She told you that?" he murmurs thoughtfully, before letting out a tired noise - right, so it seems you'd filled in some gaps, but not enough - and now it fell to Sahtar to try and colour it in a little more, especially if you're getting close to the man, he supposes the commander might need all the warning he can get. "Of course she did - she just left out the important details. I see why. Major General Umman's a sore spot for a lot of us,".

"I gathered he was a monster," Erwin says, somewhat cautiously, only for Sahtar to agree with a rough jerk of his head "-but the Dame Legate refrained from details she thought my colour my view of her," - and now, in this moment, Erwin slips. Just enough for Sahtar to notice. "Though if I'm honest, I think there might be very little that could do that," - this makes Sahtar raise a brow back at the man.

_Really now? You may eat those words yet, Commander._

"Though I'm a little more curious about how she skipped rank," Erwin admits, earning a thoughtful look from the Vice Legate, like he's thinking about whether to tell him or not, before making a decision - though not voicing his inner thoughts about it all, he lets out a short sigh a second time.

"Of course, but I stand by my previous words. We don't reward weakness, and she more than deserves her rank - but the Major Generals fought it every step of the way. She was a lowly cadet like all of us in the beginning, when we petitioned the Supremes to have her serve with us. Considering every man who survived the Devil's Backbone vouched for her, it was a given. The Supremes were also aware of how robust one would have to be to survive Major General Umman - now, it's all speculation obviously, but there was some chatter that they're the reason he never ascended to Vice Legate. His penchant for excessive cruelty and being harder to control over the years while that cruelty rose made him a liability over time," he explained. "It was all a very begrudging process, and there was enough backlash over it that they almost promoted her out of spite," he mused.

_What._

"Mm. They'd be men who'd chant 'Fail out' at her, or 'Whore' whenever she was on base down in Hashna, or looked at her like she was a joke on legs. I suppose at the time it was. A woman in the army? A concubine at that? It was like the punchline to a joke and nobody was laughing," Sahtar recalls with a grimace. 

He makes a decision then and there that if you're getting close to this devil's blood, he was going to know exactly what he was in for, and anybody who couldn't handle it? Well, then they failed the test, and quite frankly, in Sahtar's eyes, didn't deserve you anyway.

"None of us mountain survivors could stand it. We had more than a fair share of fistfights over it, which just spread more unfavourable rumours. Fraternisation, all of that. To be honest, it's the last thing she deserved. She asked for her tiger marks and spent many years prior trying to simmer down the Major General to try and make the lives of subordinates easier. He wasn't known for mercy, so she was the next best thing - and there's men who owe the skin on their backs to her ability to try and calm the mad bastard down. She'd even make him angry on purpose to distract his ire from someone else - I remember when she was fifteen - she took such a damned beating when one of the younger ones got sweet on her. Ahh what was his name.... Fahzad? Something like that. Barely a year older than her, very obvious crush. Harmless really. The Major General nearly took his eyes out just for making eyes at her, and she turned around and said it was all her fault. That she'd flashed him and tempted him and that it was all her fault for not being satisfied with him the night prior. Dear Gods I'd never seen the man look so furious. He spared Fahzad but he beat the holy fucking Hells out of her," - at this, Erwin feels a creeping sensation of coldness from the blood being pumped around his body.

He'd gathered it wasn't easy for her, but the sort of thing Sahtar spoke about didn't even happen in their own army, not like that at least - and it takes all of him not to visibly blanch.

"I remember before then, I'd spent so long being angry at her too - especially when I found out she was from the same village. For some reason - and forgive me, you may think I was a stupid, judgemental little prick - but when I found out, I was just angry at her. Angry at her for being there. Angry at her for submitting to Umman, because more than once she'd even be so convincing you could almost believe she liked the man back. Even at that age, she learned quickly how to adapt and survive, and I remember resenting her for it. Thought it shamed our values as strong Jasmah folk - I looked at her and saw my own sister, mother, aunts - and couldn't stomach it. I think I even hated her, sometimes, because of how convincing she was as his lover," he sucks in a breathe through his teeth, and from his expression, which soaks through his impassive features - Erwin gathers that the Vice Legate clearly still has some strong feelings about his own past.

Erwin tries not to visibly react to the word _lover,_ but there's a flash of distaste on his face before he can stop it. If Sahtar notices, he doesn't comment on it however.

"When what happened with Fahzad occurred, I just - I realised how much of an idiot I was. She looked at me when I went forward to try and do something - all of us wanted to say something, but embarrassingly, none of us did. We spent a long time ceding to the Major General out of pure fear that we watched this shit happen regularly - she shook her damned head at me. As if to say don't you fucking think about it, and make my suffering mean nothing. So we said nothing, and we let her keep doing it. We watched this little slip of a girl get turned inside out regularly and we didn't do a damn thing about it. I will regret that until my dying day. I realised then that she was stronger than all of us put together, and couldn't imagine turning her away from the fighting ranks when Umman passed and she chose to stay with us. She had an out. She didn't have to keep suffering. She knew she'd be given more Hell then she'd ever had in her life if she joined the ranks, and she chose us anyway,".

_She chose us._

"I promise I'm getting to the point," Sahtar says after a moment, shaking his head to himself as though trying to dispel the memory from his mind, but his expression is still set to a troubled, distasteful one. "Shortly after Umman's passing, I was temporarily made Major General, and we had the incident at the mountain after. She chose to join our armed ranks formally after our deployment there, and spent a good - oh, two years being tormented by our brothers in arms for her troubles. Trained her ass off though. Ran with the other cadets, from dusk to dawn, kept going until she pissed blood and threw up everything in her body, but she kept doing it. Had her shit regularly fucked with when she wasn't near any of us - but kept at it. Put us all to shame, don't think I'd ever seen anyone train so hard in my life, like she had something to prove," he glanced at the silent commander, and decided that now was as good a time as any for him to understand what exactly he's choosing to get close to.

"Because she did."

_Lance Corporal Jax, son of the now-Major General Patraius of the People's Army of Vazira is a fiercely proud man, who believed heavily in traditional values. The death of his uncle, Umman, only for his little upstart to try and slide into his shoes, is not only insulting, but it is laughable. The very idea that somebody even gave her tiger marks at all was nothing short of the highest insult to the integrity of the army. Jax is a man whose broad shouldered, but with a slim waist and long, muscular arms that almost seem a little too long for his torso. He has a gangly sort of shadow but it is by no means bereft of muscle._

_ "Hey! Hey Whore-girl!" - but you would ignore him steadily, jaw clenched. "I'm talking to you, uppity bitch!" Jax snaps, irritated at being ignored._

_ "You warmed my uncle's bed well enough, how about you put down the sword and pick up this one instead?" Jax reaches forward, grabbing himself at the crotch with a sneer and a wide grin afterwards when he hears some of the men hooting playfully in support when you finish the training exercise with a decent time. "Enough dress-up!" he cheers when you turn around to see him as he says this, and it takes all of you not to spit at the man's feet. _

The fact Sahtar does not spare any details is both a blessing and a curse, Erwin is grateful for it - as more knowledge is always best and is the best way to slake his curiosity, but the details of it are unavoidably uncomfortable. Erwin has his own military experience to draw upon, after all, and all of it doesn't even compare to what the Dame had to endure. He wonders, briefly, how it is that he's managed to reach you - and get as close to you as he has, when it feels like there is such a wide gap when it comes to the experiences you both have. At first, he thought it might be the age difference, but in truth, the wildly different lives you'd had might be what makes you just so strange for him to try and read.

"I think something snapped in her that day, it took her long enough, but something about it made her snap harder than she'd ever had done," though, privately, Sahtar theorises that your ability to slay the Major General Umman had awoken something monstrously capable inside of you that had gained a personal taste for the death of your enemies, but he's not about to tell that story, if only because the death surrounding him felt so much more intimate and you'd personally refused him details already, and it had been covered up - unlike the story he's about to share.

_Sahtar remembers the sparring area, which had been repurposed for the duel, with many of the training items moved to create a clear space. Jax found humour in it, he remembers - and walks out traditionally - covered in his tiger marks and his scars, muscles, shirt removed and only a pair of trousers and a long, curved sword, and no shoes. Traditionally, duels were held to solve small squabbles in the military, though had an ability to settle more severe cases, they usually had to be signed off by a Major in order to avoid a marshalling to the Supremes. It is no surprise that it would come to a duel, but what is a surprise, is when none of the mountain survivors of Pashtan are championing for the cadet._

_Amusingly, for Jax at least, it's yourself. In keeping with tradition, you too, come out in very little, having shed your armour, you stare up to him, feeling the sun hit your face as you do. Clothing and armour and anything that could soften the blow was meant to signify a sort of weakness when it came to settling a personal score. The braver the warrior, the less they wore for battle, and in keeping with this, Jax comes out with an exposed torso, shimmering with sweat from practice. You come out wearing little, but a small steel bustier that only covers the bare minimum, letting them drink in the sight of the tiger marks upon your torso that seem to offend the traditionalists so. Both of you sport a familiar smear of war paint across your faces, harking back to the old ways, but it's lazily done like a bloodied palm smear from cheek to cheek, matting your eyelashes._

_You let them hoot. You let them make their snide remarks. Sahtar remembers the quiet, boiling pride you come out with, and he remembers the wary doubt he had, despite how hard you'd trained. He remembers every inch of that fight, because he hardly blinked for the duration. Even when Jax has a fistful of your hair after you manage to disarm him. There had been a lot of blocking and speedy parrying, where your flexibility surprised the crowd of watchers and gave you opportunity to bounce back harder than the recoil of a shotgun._

_Jax, however, not one to surrender, keeps going - now more than agitated at losing his upper hand._ _It should have been enough to disarm him, but Jax is as stubborn as he is prideful, even when you slam the pommel of the sword into your metal bustier with several resounding clangs like a furious, hulking animal that was beating its chest in fury at being challenged. The roar of your voice rang out over the field as Jax stumbled to his feet and you point it at the man, chest heaving with adrenaline and frantic breathing._

_"Apologise!"_ \- _this incensed Jax more, if possible, mo_ _re so when you throw your sword over one of the barriers and snarl at him, an unrecognisably furious expression on your face. Sahtar isn't sure what he was looking at that day, but he imagines it might have been the last thing Umman had ever seen. "This can end right now! Swords are gone. This can be over. Just apologise!"_

_There's a baited breath moment, but it barely lasts, because Jax's wildly angered screech drowns out the sound of the Major General - his father - whose telling him to stop shaming the family and to end this quickly._

_"Not until I fuck you bloody, Whore-girl!"_

_And that had been enough._

Sahtar pauses for a moment, and looks over at Erwin, whose barely breathing at this point - focusing the entirety of his attentions on the Vice Legate. He has now leaned forward, chin placed atop of his hands while his face betrays nothing but morbid curiosity. 

"And then?" Erwin's voice jars Sahtar out of his thoughtful stupor for a moment, and he visibly grimaces again. He debated the merits of telling him everything, as he was second guessing himself a bit, but his logic is sound - he thinks. This man is only a little younger than himself, but seems terribly taken with the Dame, but doesn't know the first thing of what she's truly capable of. If he cannot handle it, that's one thing, but if he cannot appreciate her for the full breadth of who she is as a person, then he doesn't deserve your attention, and he wouldn't hesitate to tell you that if he came to that conclusion.

_Sahtar remembers the way you two brawl in the mud, the smearing of the face paint, the fistfuls of hair that had been pulled out in bloody clumps. He remembers the way Jax pulled your hair back and exposed your throat, and had pulled down your bustier somewhat and degraded you, loudly. He has a visible, physical reaction of vicarious embarrassment and revulsion when the lock that Jax has you in, has you mounted from behind, his entire form drowning you in a forceful and unavoidably sexual grasp._

_"Nehri shavhta thureh troas!" the naked rage in your face when you looked up at the crowd was forever etched into Sahtar's mind, your Vaziri words piercing the atmosphere as you struggled against the seasoned fighter, but manage to get an opening just quick enough to push the back of your foot into his shin as hard as you could "-My teeth to your neck! I'll kill you, bastard!" - he remembers the wild spitting snarls, and mutual, mingled screams when you roll around on the ground and manage to get him in an uncomfortable pin with your lower body, focusing heavily around his neck._

_"I'll fuck your cunt bloody, how about that?" he remembers the way you scream inches from Jax's face when you gain the upper hand, and you know now, in this moment, that Jax isn't going to surrender, and even if he did, you shouldn't accept it. Not now. Not with half your chest hanging out and hoards of men openly preying on your weakness. "So I guess I'll have to make one," a nasty sort of grin is on your face now, and it's right now that Jax realises he might have called you Whore-girl one time too many. when he sees your arm flying towards him, your hand flinging forward and plunging into his eye sockets in unison with such a force that the collision of your hand to his face sends it banging violently against the floor. _

_Sahtar remembers being close enough to hear the sounds of squelching and the blood that erupted from the mans eyelids as he screamed, open-mouthed, he's able to see your finger and thumbs slip so deeply inside of Jax's skull that he can no longer see the knuckle, and visibly winces when you drag his head off the ground ever so slightly, and it trembles in your grip, only for you to slam it back down using the digits that are pushing past the tendrils of Jax's eyeballs, which had been reduced to nothing but puddles of blood in his sockets, which reminds Sahtar uncomfortably of crushed cherries._

_He remembers what you snarled. He remembers the crunching sound every time you slammed Jax's head on the ground, punctuating it with a furious scream._

He falters a moment, and looks at Erwin's face - it betrays nothing, but his eyes are slightly wider than they are usually, because Sahtar spares no detail. He remembers every sound, every crunch, and every scream that filled his ears until it felt like the arena was overflowing. He remembers how Major General Patraius remained frozen, just watching open-mouthed and unable to will himself to stop the fight, because he couldn't believe it was happening, and that it was panning out that way.

Sahtar does, briefly, reconsider the gory details - but continues on anyway, studying Erwin's face carefully, silently judging his reaction.

_"Say my name!"_ _slam "Say my name!" slam "Say my name!" - Sahtar remembers how the blood poured down the mans cheeks and temples like tears. He remembers how from the neck down, the Lance Corporal's body had stopped flailing and rather, had gone unnervingly still. He can feel Ryka and the other men swelling with pride around him, the mountain survivors screaming uproariously over everybody else as loud as they possibly could._

_He remembers how the name Senset is screamed from every inch of the sparring area, but you just keep slamming, until the hoarse cry from the man ends it - but it's much too late - the head trauma is immense, and Jax dies underneath your body._

_But nobody calls you Whore-girl anymore._

Sahtar finishes, but before Erwin can say anything, a low, exaggeratedly bored, feminine drawl fills the room. The Vice Legate doesn't even need to turn around to know that it is you, but Erwin looks at you - and sees you leaning against his door frame, your hips set backwards so most of your lower body is resting against it, one leg drawn up with the knee jutting out too casually. You're dressed in your boots, and a crisp, white shirt with no sleeves that emphasised the fully formed bruising on your arms and the thick muscles above the elbow, and your dark, discoloured bustier showing through the chest clearly, along with the dark black stripes on your abdominal muscles. 

"Oh~ boys, are we trading war stories? You should have told him the one about Broges. I was much more impressive," a pout on your lips, though your expression seems a little vicious - and the look you're giving Sahtar is the kind that would melt ice, but the man seems entirely unbothered.

This is the first time Erwin's laid eyes on you since the night previous, and even with the ghastly story Sahtar had told him, his heart still skips a beat deeply within his chest before he can stop it. There's a more dangerous sway in your hips, the way you move now seems much more quietly powerful, especially now that he had an idea of the savagery that throbbed deeply inside of your veins.

"Hair pin in that Marley bastard's throat - choked on his own blood and died," Sahtar snorts, as though amused by your preference for that story rather than, what he would argue, was a far more impressive something-from-nothing tale. "-Reprised her role as a concubine and went in deep, did the whole no-speak-Eldian bit and everything," he lets out a harsh laugh at this, which makes Erwin a little tense on instinct, but you ignore it, sauntering over and planting yourself firmly on the mans desk. There's a small space between the books and paperwork, and move it a little to the side so there's more space, rather than have any of them go to find a chair. You have your back to your Vice Legate, and fold one leg neatly over the other as you stare down at the blond with a nonplussed expression.

"I told you I was terrible," was all you said, curling one of the bangs you kept loose when your hair was in a messy updo, rhythmically - nervously - Sahtar recognises, around your finger. "Sahtar's probably gone and filled your head with all sorts," you make a melodramatic sigh, and pout a bit more. Erwin's eyes fall on the long, metal pin through your messy bun that your locks are twisted around, and briefly imagines what it would feel like to have it shoved violently into his neck with all of the strength in your body, before pulling away to look you in the eyes.

"I was trying to explain how you skipped rank - though I got a bit side tracked. Point is, you kept getting shit every step of the way, and every time you challenged it and won, the Supremes just decided to award you rank. I think the idea was to get you to fail out, and piss off the men who feel they deserved it more, and drive you out," Sahtar mused.

"Bully for them, I turned out to be good at it," you said, with no hint of apologia for the system being as messed up as it is. "-helpfully, they forgot it actually gave me authority or maybe they thought I wouldn't use it. Started swinging my dick around and handpicking my boys, and next thing ya know - we're plaguing every skirmish they toss us in," you said with a stretch and a yawn "-sorry it's not that impressive. The reason I'm a Legate is largely political fuckery, but then again," you gave a wonky grin "-I think you knew that the second I told you how old I was. To be perfectly honest, I should still be a Brigadier at best,"

Erwin - he needs to pick up his thoughts, needs to find space to be horrified, but finds himself unable to do anything but fall into the too-casual conversation considering the heavy discussion that just happened prior. He cant take his eyes off you now that you're in the room, and he tries to match up the mental image of the shattered girl in his bed the night prior to the fierce, roaring, sadistic little creature that Sahtar described and found himself struck dumb for a moment. He doesn't know what to do with himself, or why his heart wont stop pounding when you look down at him from on high, perched on his desk, amber eyes scanning for any sign of revulsion on his features.

"I was assured you earned your rank and I believe it," is what he manages to say, and is surprised he doesn't gasp it out because internally, he is reeling. 

"Mmm. Some of it was also so I could be officially awarded lands to go with my title, which only Legates and higher ups get, but women don't exclusively own land unless they're widowed, so making me a Dame Legate was a work-around to give me some shitty patch of land in bumfuck nowhere. This way, I actually very technically class as nobility - or um, I guess some weird military-subsection of nobility because I still don't get invited to fancy shit. 'Cos face it, no other Legate was wanting to do the King's outreach mission - and they couldn't send someone of low rank to be a diplomatic envoy, it'd be an insult, the solution with the Supremes was to find a patsy and when no one stepped up, they picked me and used our experience on Pashtan to force us into an Anti-Titan program, and wouldn'tcha know it~ " your voice, turning back to a playful purr to cover up the vast irritation that he could clearly see deep within your eyes. "A Legate position conveniently cropped up, they couldn't find someone to fit the role of envoy so they made one," - you wrinkle your nose in distaste, while the power was appreciated, and you certainly proved yourself worthy every time you were challenged, the sensation of being a cog and a tool in the great political machine was acutely felt. "As if to say, fuck you for not failing out, we'll send you out to die instead, they continued the trend of awarding me rank with the sole purpose of getting me out of their hair, and made me a damn Legate. Oh, by the Gods Sahtar, on a scale of one to volcanic, how pissed off d'you reckon Patraius will be when my letter arrives and he finds out I'm alive?" you grin, looking over your shoulder at the Vice Legate, who merely chuckles somewhat derisively.

"I think that might finally do the old bastard in - he's still fuming over the Mahtabas thing," Sahtar said, a smile on his face - he flicked his eyes to Erwin and easily filled in the knowledge gap so as not to alienate the man "- she's got some infamy, some started calling her Yude Mahtabas, the _Young Wolf -_ it's ah, it's an old Vaziri fairytale, I suppose. Young girl, raised by wolves, becomes one," he said, rolling his hand idly as if to say _yadda yadda, it's all a bunch of silly childish nonsense._ "Since the Legate upgrade you're apparently the Wolf Queen, for what that's worth. As you can tell Commander Erwin, opinion is... rather split on us," which is an understatement.

You, however, roll your eyes at the dramatic nickname.

"That explains some of the weird rumours," letting out a short exhale of exasperation " - the last time I picked a specialist, Hasahn practically shit himself and told me he thought I bathed in the blood of men who disappoint me," you pause "-which, I very much doubt the skincare efficacy of," - you state, with a very dry sense of humour.

"You didn't tell him you didn't though," Sahtar adds, lips curving up into a smile again - Erwin thinks this might be the most he's ever seen the man grin, and it's in your company.

"It was funny," was your only defence, lips drawn into a smirk.

The letter to Vazira is more of a series of letters, complete with copies, and some addressed to the Ministry as well as the King's office. Sahtar was good for keeping you on track, Erwin noticed - but rarely interjected unless he felt like he could add to something you had suggested. The Vice Legate does feel a little out of sorts though, he was more than content to stay in your company but, the tension in the room is palpable and he isn't certain if his war stories were the cause. There's a smouldering, yearning between the pair of you that's more obvious than anybody would care to admit aloud, but he's done his part - he thinks. As soon as there's a moment, he dismisses himself from the room and leaves you alone with the blond, closing the door behind him as he does.

He knows that you'd tell him anything that could affect the mission, and despite your brashness, he trusts you with the man. 

Sahtar also knows he's dropped a veritable bombshell on the Eldian, and he needed some time to parse through it all, and now that he'd left you alone with him - there was finally time to sort through it. You're still perched atop his desk, giving a prime view of your legs - which you'd realised were the easiest way of distracting the man, though now, it was at the back of your mind. You didn't expect Sahtar to be so forthcoming with the man, considering how antisocial he tends to be, but you suppose he has his reasons, and will question him about it after.

"Commander," - you need to break the silence once Sahtar leaves, but find yourself unable to find the right words.

"Legate," - he responds, looking up at you undeterred.

_Shit._

You glance away from him uncomfortably for a moment - you'd rather hoped your war stories could be put off for a while, or that you'd be the one to tell them, but with Sahtar, there was never any sweetness to his words. He would spare no details, just the same as you, but the way he'd tell it - it'd be exactly as brutal as they were in reality. Normally this isn't an issue, but, for some reason, you actually do care what Commander Erwin thinks of you, which is a new and bizarre sensation - as you so rarely ever care what a man might think.

Do either of you even address last night? Or is there now so much brutal truth between you that it's moot? The man might not even want you close to him ever again, all things considered - there were plenty of recruits you'd taken into your battalion in your time who recoiled at your touch as much as they yearned for it, because they'd heard the stories, or seen you on the field. 

"Time for your etiquette lesson, if you're ready," Erwin jumps straight into it, jarring you out of your thoughts. "-Just some quick basics, they're similar to what you're used to," - he avoids the elephant in the room with ease, and just like that, the pair of you fall into a natural conversation, tension slowly leaving your shoulders. 

"How different, King Raja despises being touched in any form," you murmur, when Erwin explains you'll have to take a knee rather than bow, and are expected to kiss the Queen's hand - and that your sex didn't matter in that regard, as a woman kissing another woman's hand was not typical nobility manners in Vazira at all.

"It'll be quick," - in this moment, you feel the hand you're resting on your knee getting pulled gently towards the Commander - and blink owlishly in surprise. You look down and you see that Erwin has gently prised it off your knee into his own hand, and gently folds it into a closed knuckle fist the way that the Queen would be presenting herself, his fingers gently working your left hand.

_Touching me should be the last thing you want to do after hearing all that._

"All you have to do is this," - at this, you flinch a bit, looking down at him in surprise when you feel him pulling your hand close to his face, your heart beating uncomfortably in your chest when you feel his soft lips pressing against the hard, cracked skin of your knuckles. Funnily enough, you've never been self-conscious of your hands before, but it'd been a very long time since you'd been treated anything close to a lady of high standing that you suddenly feel quite strange about the litany of scars, marks and hardened callous skin on your knuckles and palms, especially when Commander Erwin's are so soft. An uncomfortable warmth passes through your arm and you feel goosebumps getting raised noticeably on your exposed skin in the sleeveless shirt, causing you to glance away briefly.

_What the Hell reaction is that? Calm down, stupid._

"Okay," you replied, shakily. Erwin is giving you a persistent, simmering look that doesn't break or blink, like he's measuring your reaction. When he gently lets go, your hand flies up instinctively to your chest, almost defensively, while you struggle to look at the man. It's not that you didn't like it, but you think a faint flush might actually be showing up on your skin because you feel warm all over. "Sorry - I think it's just been a while since I've been treated like a lady," you tried to joke about it, but the truth of it is so stark and apparent that it doesn't feel like a joke.

"Really?" Erwin muses, now that's a true tragedy, he thinks - because you can be a warrior and a lady, they don't have to be mutually exclusive - not to him - but the fact that it felt like your culture made you choose - it's quite sad.

"Really," you reply dryly, before awkwardly clearing your throat, trying to change the subject - you're not one for being soft, and traditionally ladylike, not because part of you didn't enjoy it, but it just felt like it wasn't meant for people like you, and even playing the part as a joke felt a little off and odd to you.

Erwin wants to say something like _we can fix that,_ but remains quiet, because he's certain you're embarrassed. It's actually a little endearing, especially juxtaposed against the horrific stories that the Vice Legate shared with him, that for all of your brutality and fury, and for all the men you'd had to slaughter to get there, there's still so much of you that's human that you can lapse into a blushing mess from something as benign as a kiss on the hand. It's doubly charming when he considers just how rough and brazen you are on a daily basis, and that you wouldn't react half as much to a playful grope of your body, but a mere _knuckle kiss_ is enough to get you flustered. 

"Anyway," you cough "-moving on," _please._

"Lets talk tavern sleeping arrangements for the interior,"

* * *

Savage little creature you may be, you're still perfectly amenable, and easy to speak to. Erwin expected to feel a little more off about interacting with you, but in truth, it just feels natural. Perhaps it's overexposure to the company of people like Levi, but the commander has been around a long time, and he's seen many kinds of soldiers come and go. He's seen those who join with noble hearts and leave bitter and empty, or die with their ideals still pure. He's seen cadets like Yeager, and others, join the scouts high risk, low reward lifestyle because they yearn for active combat - though they're few and far between, they do exist. He's seen soldiers broken from training, flying into a vitriolic rage as their comrades get crushed between the great jaws of a titan, and he's been able to call them his brothers and sisters in arms. So when he hears about just how hard you had to push back, just for the right to fight at all, any part of him that should be repulsed, isn't.

Is he horrified? Yes.

He takes one look at how you blush when he kisses your hand and realises that once upon a time, there was something innocent, and fragile about you, like with most people, but unlike most, it got ripped away with a tremendous force. The fact there's any of that left inside of you, after everything you've done, had to do, and may do in the future just to keep yourself above water - it's a small miracle. It somehow hits a lot harder when juxtaposed with what he heard from the Vice Legate, and it feels like his insides are just boiling over from the stories. 

There's still so much he doesn't even know, and he has to wonder, how could someone like that, desire someone like him? The struggles you both endured, whilst immense, were very, very different - and now, despite knowing more about you, the commander feels further away from you than ever.

And he doesn't like it.

It's probably for the best, but he doesn't like it - in fact, he's surprised when he finds the notion quite unbearable, and notices when you don't really flirt with him as much as you normally do.

And he just, for some reason, cannot abide it.

"Alright, we're done for now," he rises up from his office desk, and holds out a hand to help you off of his desk - not that you need it, but you always seem to appreciate his gentlemanly touch, even if it does flummox you a little. When your feet hit the ground, you gasp suddenly in surprise when he pulls you forward - more of a yank really - while holding your hand until your chest crashes into his. You adapt to it quickly, though you're pleasantly startled, and when your body connects with his, your hands break free as you feel his arms make their way firmly around your waist. As though on autopilot, you do the same, your face naturally perching itself over his shoulder. 

A startled "Oh!" did escape your throat, but it melts away quickly. You're not one to get too startled by an embrace - as you do those fairly often, but how much physical contact the commander initiates can be counted on one hand, and so the suddenness of it does startle you. 

"You've got the hang of this hugging business, I see," you tease, but cut to the point, but your tone is gentle, as you're so close you're practically brushing his ear "-not that I mind, but what's this in aid of?" - mostly because you've noticed the man is being a bit more forward with you. Perhaps sharing a bed had impacted him, and had taken down another barrier, but it's bad timing for it - considering he's trying to look at least a little more impartial before the security council meet. At the very least, he's trying to cover his tracks just a little - having the Vice Legate present for most of the meeting was a start,

_I just love the way your body feels against me, Legate, and you haven't flirted with me at all today, I just wanted it to feel normal -_ is what he wants to say, but what comes out is entirely different.

"Just to thank you for last night, it was nice to sleep next to somebody," - _even if it was torture and I barely did much sleeping -_ it seemed that once business was done, the abrupt change of subject was something that Erwin had planned, because he jumps into it before you could leave the room. His admission is surprising, but heartwarming all the same, and proved that pushing your luck seemed to benefit more than just you, and it was probably a good sign that he was still thinking about it and didn't try to discard the intimate experience completely.

Instinctively, you push towards the warmth of his body, fingers curling into the clothing of his shirt as you become buried in the familiar scents of the night previous, of ink, stationary and shaving oils - he just smells clean and fresh, like laundered clothes and a feeling of safety, like taking off your combat boots and feeling your feet hit soft sand. Much like Sahtar, the Commander's embrace manages to feel homely, which is surprising, considering there isn't a single part of him that resembles Vazira, and in truth, there wasn't too many things back there that made you feel like this. But, it was still home.

Right now, home feels like your men, home feels like Sahtar, but strangely, home also feels like Commander Erwin, and you're not sure why.

For a moment, you wish you were one of those short girls, Erwin's a tall man, almost as tall as Sahtar, but not quite, but you've always come up a little gangly, and just for a moment, you wished your head could have tucked into his chest. Those embraces were always the best kind. Your men were good for that sort of thing, but it was usually a jovial sort of event - after a fight, or a celebration, or with heavy, drunken laughter to accompany it. Rarely have you ever sought it out for the sake of it, though you'd give such warmth without question, it did render you wanting, sometimes.

"Mm. I'm just glad you agreed, I hope I can look forward to more nights like that," that's as forward as you can muster, if only because you still want to make sure that the commander is still on board with how much more physical you've gotten with one another. You hope the answer is a yes, especially now that man has more of a breadth of scope for the kind of person you are, ugly parts and all - even though he's just hearing about it and not seeing it, Sahtar spared no expense with the details, and you just, more than anything, wanted him to keep looking at you the way he did when you first arrived.

The commander responds in a low, quiet tone.

"Maybe, after the security council meeting," _I need to at least try and look impartial, and keep my hands off of you for a while._

He can feel your heart skip in your chest from how tightly you're pushed against his body, and while he very much enjoys the sensation of your breasts against him, he can feel the tension between your bodies change from just a frontal embrace to something a little more risque, and certainly harder to explain if somebody were to walk by or listen in.

"That was the best rest I've had since I got here," you admitted softly, peeling back your upper body ever so slightly, just so that you can look him in the face and try to will the words to keep coming out of you - even though he's damnably handsome up close and just seeing his small, accepting smile is enough to wipe the mental slate clean completely. 

_Fuck! I don't let men make me like this, I make men feel like this. Get control back, idiot -_ you think, somewhat irritated at yourself for mooning over the handsome commander up close.

"Even if you were poking me most of the night," this comes out as a low, secretive little purr, and it takes Erwin all of a moment for him to realise what you're talking about, and a light heat begins to radiate from his skin, though he seems largely calm, his pale complexion gives him away, as you see a redness slowly creeping up the side of his neck to his ears.

_Of course she felt that -_ Erwin groans internally, and he isn't sure how to respond to it - what does he do, apologise? He feels suitably embarrassed by it, or rather, called out - because he's only human, but then he sees the flirtatious look in your eyes, which, he now finds to be a relieving return to the status quo, as there was no excessive pulling back in an effort to reign in the intimacy of the night prior. 

"I'm sorry if that woke you," is all he can think to say, only to see you lightly press down on your soft, tempting lower lip.

_Now or never, Senset._

"It's alright," you breath out slowly, a noticeable dilation in your eyes when you look at him now, he can feel your temperature rising against his body just a bit, as it had been doing steadily thus far.

_Oh, thank God - she's just being cocky and flirty about it. Naturally -_ this was something of a relief, until you manage to break the man's entire train of thought and veer it so off track that it becomes damn near unsalvageable with what comes purring out from the base of your throat next.

"I liked it."

Erwin feels his thoughts drift into a quick, abrupt emptiness with the speed of a dropped glass, and when he looks at you - he can see you're quite hot and bothered. His eyes widen a bit in response, and he can feel his voice failing him, not for the first time, but his body is betraying him a fair amount, because he can feel a short rush of warmth building up around his lower gut in a telltale sign of burgeoning arousal - and it was taking all of him to try and squash it down before it got too noticeable or out of hand, but that's made much harder with how pressed you are against his body, even with the layers of uniform.

A short, husky reply slips out before he can temper it.

"Oh?" - he kicks himself internally, because pressing the matter will _not_ help, but he sees you gain a mischievous gleam in your eye that tells him you've cottoned on to the fact the feeling is mutual.

_There, back in the saddle - men want to be wanted. Everybody does. Even Erwin._

_Better give it to him then._

"Mm. I really am terrible," you let out a short sigh, and look up at him coyly through your eyelashes, because you can feel yourself getting a little excited by the fact you'd finally gotten your hooks into him just a bit more, leading to something more sensual, and it definitely had a small, tingling, pleasant sensation build up in your gut the more you pushed into his hips a bit, biting down on your lip when you feel a hint of something firm down there that wasn't quite so noticeable prior. "It felt like you were teasing me with it, but I think that might just be me, I'm so - ugh... I'm so sorry," you say, a bit exasperated with yourself.

_Me...? Tease you? Yeah right -_ Is the only coherent thought Erwin can manage, because he's a little in disbelief but getting more enthralled by the second, the arms around your hips tightening ever so slightly.

"I just haven't been touched in months and it's getting to me a bit, my thighs felt like a damn lake," you complain, a little petulantly, but with all of your typical openness, but this seems to stir the commander that much more, because he swallows thickly and audibly, and looks at you with a blown out, keening stare.

_Fuck, stop talking._

"And I'd have done something about it but I didn't want to be inappropriate," you purr, throwing his words in his face, and not for the first time, Erwin wants to slap himself for saying it in the first damned place.

"Done something?" is the only thing Erwin can say, and it comes out so very huskily that there's no obfuscating his intentions or what he's feeling - he wants details, and his human urges are trouncing all over his fragile boundaries and his need to try and keep you at least a little bit away from him before he gets the all clear from the interior.

_Don't answer that or I won't be able to stand up from my desk for a while._

"Yeah," is all you give him, a little smirk on your features, even though you can feel yourself getting quite aroused, you preserve his fragile intentions to at least try and keep his hands from your body. "-Does dirty talk turn you on, Commander?" 

_Ho-oh God, when it's coming from your mouth, yes -_ it's just so sordid and raunchy and not the sort of thing that comes out of demure attempts at getting his attention, and all of your words are immediately going to his dick.

He closes his eyes a second as he tries to regain some sense of control, which buckles slightly when he feels you grind a little bit against his body, your firm, thick thighs pressing a now noticeably present erection. He's too far in now, this isn't an embarrassing little issue hidden under a bed cover in the dead of night. This is a very present, and inescapably real, tangible arousal you're calling him out for, and relishing in with too much primal, visceral pleasure.

It's now he realises he's too far in, when his brain fails him and his mouth answers for him.

"Ah - ah...just a bit," it comes out far more breathy than he wanted it too - and it's now that it sets in just how fragile his self-control is, and his middling answer is absolutely weakened when you give him a flash of a knowing smirk, that tells him it's going to be something you'll be using in the future.

"Legate - we should - " it's almost gasped out - he's about to suggest something, say something about getting his fill or stopping completely depending on whether his self-control would win out or not, before you have to go to the interior and stay in separate rooms, but he's cut off swiftly before he finishes his sentence. 

The tension is, very suddenly, interrupted - by a loud and obnoxious series of knocks against his door, causing you to peel from him with a suddenness, and for him to quickly roll down the waist cloth of his uniform before clambering behind the desk, the pair of you very much resembling errant misbehaving teenagers, who were about to be caught doing something they shouldn't.

"Commander Erwin! Premier Zachary has arrived!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( A/N for general author nonsense & commentary: shiiiiht just rename the protag to DAMN THIRSTY LEGATE because she got a hankerin' - but I figured it was pretty realistic for her, I mean I'm slowburning ever so slightly but she is not a patient woman
> 
> And now, housekeeping timeline notes:
> 
> this would get explained eventually but, just in case it bothered anyone, an expedition to Paradis was pretty much always on the cards for Vazira, and the Supremes needed a patsy about four or so years ago? Nobody stepped up then, and no one stepped up after. So boom, convenient Legate role appears, with an originally reasonable!timeline of a few years to build up the specialist battalion before venturing out to the isolationist island, but then their semi-reliable Marley informant told them about the crowning of Historia Reiss & combined with the collapsing state of the Alliance, and all of a sudden they're forced onto an Anti Titan Programme to try and crash course them into being ahead of schedule by a good few years. 'A few years' might seem like a generous original timescale, but you gotta consider, Paradis has a seemingly never-ending amount of the most densely populated titan concentration in the world. In an ideal world, the Vaziran Anti Titan Programme would have been an additional 2 years (and thus have the same amount/3yrs of training time as our Eldian cast), when the Dame would have been 27 upon arrival to the island, but... the world's a bitch and life isn't fair. Also consider, during this whole thing the battalion was intermittently defending against Marley attacks. It's just a huge mess.... sucks for all of them. It does mean she got 4 years of being top of the pile though, long enough to build up her own legend in her army and give her time to justify her power and ridiculous rank. It's why Sahtar insists she's earned her rank, she had to do a lot in a short time, with pretty much everything stacked against her --- he ain't even mad about it tbf.
> 
> He's the ride or die homie we all need.
> 
> Also, I am living for the nectar of sexually yearning Erwin like ughhh yes and trust me it'll just be getting spicier --- okay that's enough from me it's 2:27am and I have work bye loves of mine--


	13. Desiring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( Ohhh issa mini chapter babies of mine because the interior visit (i promise im not putting it off!) is just, chonky as heck and I have work tomorrow and I'm working Saturday :'( I had a weird midweek day off so y'all get this weird update but I thought it was important to start getting up in Commander Handsome's head just a bit-- also hello friend from work if you're reading this and also BIG UPS to Chisakii, Agnes and unnatural_ocean <3 I see you. I hear you. I love you. Your input and readership is valuable to me. ))

_Chapter Thirteen_

**Desiring**

Premier Zachary’s arrival signified a few things, namely that the plan was ready, and that the security counsel will be having their closed meeting directly after your meeting with the Queen. Commander Pixis has checkpoints set up at each wall for the arrival of the Vazirans into the interior. It would take quite a few hours to reach the centre, and it would be a fairly sizeable convoy, considering it’d include the Vazirans, the supporting Survey Corps and of course, the Military Police.

“There’s a rapport with the special operations squad and the foreigners, and they’re the ones responsible for recovering the Vazirans initially, so they’re the only Survey Corps who’ll be supporting. I’ll be charging Aiblinger with the MPs who’ll be flanking the convoy and securing the tavern within Wall Sina,” Commander Nile Dok is finally present, after being so swept up with active duties, it seems that the arrival of the Premier - to look over the drafts of the reports before they officially go to the Crown and counsel, was enough to get him out of his workload in Mitras.

Erwin does a remarkable job of looking put together behind his desk when the men arrive. Nile, however, is one of Erwin’s few friends, and can tell when the man is distracted. It’s a very subtle thing, as most things with Erwin are, as he does incredibly well at looking focused, but every so often, his eyes flicker to the door - not in a way the Premier notices, but Nile certainly does. It’s quite unlike him, but then again, he supposes these are unusual times.

The meeting does, however, go off without a hitch, and it is the catalyst for a frenetic excitement in the barracks for all the Vaziran men who are dying to see the city, even if it’ll be through closed-curtain carriages for the moment being. They’re minimising interaction with civilians until an address with the Queen, at which point the foreigners will be cautiously allowed to interact and move more freely. The public relations side of it was a lot more work than Erwin had expected, since he rarely concerned himself with public opinion, but apparently, this had been the lion’s share of Nile’s stress.

Pixis will be present at the security counsel, and will meet the convoy at a later date, and will be at his home in Wall Rose, Erwin simply states he’ll be staying with the convoy, since he’s already there.

“You have a good relationship with the Legates don’t you? That’s probably for the best then, keep tensions low,” that was the conclusion the Premier reaches, and summarily dismisses the meeting. Nile, however, stays in the office with the Survey Corps commander - and talks to him a little.

“So, you were right after all,” Nile says, piercing the comfortable quiet that had settled between the pair of them.

Though they are friends, they’re not the sort to sit down and ruminate over everything the other has gotten up to in their long gaps between talking to one another. Nile might try on occasion, but Erwin is not a family man, and over the years, there has been less and less for them to relate to with each other. Now though, it feels like there is so much to say and not enough time to say it all, he has to know, for the sake of his oldest friend, was it worth it? All of the personal sacrifices, choosing titans over love, a yearning for the outside over the lives of comrades, was it worth it?

“Hm?” Erwin doesn’t immediately catch on, and Nile gives him a somewhat defeated smile.

“About life beyond the walls, all these years, and you were right all along. I’ve got to ask,” he reclines a little bit in his chair, arms folded over his chest.

“How does it feel?” it’s a surprisingly heavy question considering how carelessly the man levies it, and he’s pleasantly surprised to see a small smile gracing the blond’s face - without him having to press him to remove his indomitable mask.

“She - they’re really something, Nile,” Erwin’s not one to fumble his words, but the other man catches the slip. It’s quick, barely noticeable, but it’s there. Measuring Erwin’s expression, he can see the way his eyes shine with a cautious hope, and that small smile planted on his features actually reaches his eyes. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Erwin look like that, to be honest.

He’d gotten a look at some of the Vaziran men in passing on his way to the meeting, and had been filled in over the events of the week, but catches Erwin’s slip. “The reports don’t do it justice, the bombardment rifle the Vazirans brought is extremely capable, just a few of those would turn the tides significantly, but we’ve also put forward a request for more long-range remote detonation schemas for the Engineer Corps, titan hardening might not be an issue any more. Assuming we make successful contact….” he trails off for a moment, finally catching the crooked eyebrow that Nile Dok is giving him.

“I haven’t heard you speak like this in a while, Erwin,” Nile, of course, is not one for rumours, and so truthfully, he hasn’t heard any that have been floating around, however insignificant they may be. He has, however, spoken with Pixis at length in an effort to make sure this diplomatic visit goes well, and has heard quite a fair bit about the lady commander - and having caught Erwin’s verbal slip, Nile does not let it go. “It’s nice to hear,” - he segues in lightly, because he hasn’t actually met the Legates yet, but apparently, they’re something to behold.

“To answer your question, it feels good, vindicating even,” Erwin says simply, though good doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

“I suppose all of it had to mean something eventually,” Nile says, looking pensive now. Erwin narrows his eyes a bit, but doesn’t challenge the statement. Nile never really understood the true depths of his desire to push humanity beyond the walls and reclaim the world, and knowing the rest of the world was still there - and didn’t need saving, it didn’t take the wind out of his sails, it merely rejuvenated him with a new sense of life and purpose that his friend couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

Nile didn’t understand the sacrifices that Erwin made, or rather, he did, but he didn’t understand the drive behind them which made it worth it for him.

“The outside world you’ve been looking for, for so long came knocking at our doors,” Nile mused “-is it everything you expected?” - he watches the man carefully, able to pick up on all of his little nuances, and subtle little gives that most don’t notice about someone as impassive and purposefully difficult to read as the scouts commander.

Erwin casts his mind back to that first meeting in his office, and how his heart jumped to his throat when Levi came in and told them that they’d recovered people beyond the walls, people who were looking for them. He tries to cling to that feeling to try to describe everything that went through his mind when the Vazirans first made contact with him inside of the walls, but all he can think of is the way the Dame Legate feels against his body, the exotic beauty that just seems so otherworldly to him, her flirtatious smirk and the smell of her hair that his reply betrays more than it should.

“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted,” Erwin breathes out, and at this Nile gives him a look. It’s a suitable answer, if viewed in direct relation to the question, but Nile is an incredibly perceptive man, and he knows it’s not easy to get the blond out of sorts, and he gets the sense that his answer might have something to do with his little - his almost ‘ _She’s amazing’_ that almost left the man’s lips, because his eyes seem distant, just the way they had earlier when he’d spoken.

There was only one way to be sure, so Nile goes for it.

He clears his throat a bit, placing his hand flat against Erwin’s desk with a definitive, light slapping noise as he rises forward from his chair.

“Well, now I have to meet her,” - this makes Erwin bristle in surprise a bit, while Nile gives him a vaguely amused expression, because Erwin’s reaction tells him everything he needs to know. He married that shared love they had in that bar, so many years ago, and he remembers the last time Erwin ever confessed to feelings for somebody, so he knew exactly what that looked like, but they were younger. Much younger. The way Erwin’s being right now - he’s not speaking like it’s a pile of emotions he can take or leave, he speaks just a smidgen breathlessly that tells Nile that he’s not able to separate himself from his goals the same way he could so many years ago. Then again, this is a different sort of playing field, this isn't just a wonderful woman in a bar that would later be Nile's wife, no, this is somebody who represents everything that Erwin specifically had been searching for, a goal that the Survey Corps commander would throw any amount of lives at in order to achieve. 

Coupled with the fact that, according to Dot Pixis, this lady legate is apparently as beautiful as she is coarse, with all that in mind, Nile can't be too surprised - but it's been so long since he'd seen the man like this (in fact, he's not sure he's ever seen the man like this, even if he did once love the same woman) that it is jarring.

Nile wouldn't dream of insulting the man by bringing forth any of the criticisms he knows that Erwin would have thought of already, about how needlessly complicating it could get, because of just how much of this alliance will now be inextricably tied to politics and court. He knows well enough that Erwin Smith knows exactly what he's doing, but nonetheless, he is a little amused, and still surprised that there's enough humanity and yearning for it, even with the gained title of _demon of Stohess,_ that he could still get like this. It was easy for Nile, and indeed, most of the Eldians, to convince themselves that the _great demon commander_ wouldn't feel much of anything, and could sleep like a baby at night after losing tens of hundreds of men if it got him just one bit closer to his ultimate goal of the world beyond the walls. 

It is now that he's reminded Erwin is still human, and isn't so far away from the person he knew in his youth, and that deep down, that boy is still in there. Somewhere. 

Nile Dok just never thought he'd live to see that again.

"What?" Erwin replies to Nile's words after a moment of quiet, only for the man to snort and shake his head, a little exasperatedly.

"Oh come now Erwin, we're friends, aren't we? For God's sake man, I'm married," Nile said, his tone rather wry, as though he's explaining that the sky is, in fact, blue, and that the other man is being incredibly obvious to him, even though their contact is sporadic, and Nile hasn't even been there that long, he can tell with just a few minutes of conversation with the man that Pixis' offhanded observation of the scout leader being _a little taken_ by this foreign lady commander to be utterly true. At first, Nile dismissed it as idle chitchat from a bored, drunk old man trying to pass the time, but it seems like there's some merit behind it.

"You think I've forgotten what it looks like when you're sweet on someone?" Nile asks rhetorically "- Pixis said you were a little taken by this foreign lady-commander, but I thought he was just joking," he chuckles a bit, and Erwin feels just a little awkward, but doesn't show it - he perhaps should have taken in Levi's words a little more when he said that he was being a little obvious. "I see now that he wasn't," there's some teasing to his tone, which, admittedly, they haven't done with each other in a very, very long time.

Despite the awkward subject matter, Erwin feels his smile widening without him consciously doing so - and he's much too old and serious to childishly try to rebuke it, and to be honest, even in his youth he was a little too serious and probably wouldn't have, if the statements are true. Certainly, it seems like it is - he knows he's definitely feeling some sort of way, a lot of it being largely physical, if nothing else, he is hopelessly yearning for all of the touch and comfort that the Dame Legate exudes from her body, because she gives it so forwardly and unrelentingly, and as rough as she is, she lets her affection and her warmth crash over all those in her sphere with an overwhelming force. The Dame Legate drowns and encapsulates her men - her boys - with it regularly, and when she felt like Erwin needed it, she gave it without question - when she uttered - _you were a baby -_ with all of the raw, visceral outrage and keening need to shelter a bit of Erwin that had died a long time ago, when he spoke about what happened to his father - God, was it then? It had to be that moment. That moment when he felt his feelings complicate from a mere addiction to picturing her naked to a yearning for more honesty and raw, unbridled feelings to fill the divide caused from the different worlds they both felt they lived in. Maybe it was that. Or the moment he laid eyes on her, and she shook his hand for the first time, and thanked him for the Survey Corps rescuing her team, and all he could do was thank her for existing. Was it then? It could be. 

_Ah. They're correct. They're all correct, aren't they? I'm sweet on this woman. Oh... dear._

Perhaps it's a crush, he's not so old that he can't have those, surely. Do you ever outgrow them? To tell the truth, Erwin isn't sure what he's feeling, but he knows he wants more of it, no matter how serious, or non-serious it may be. He wants it, even if he doesn't necessarily deserve it.

"She's a beautiful, formidable woman," Erwin doesn't agree, or disagree with Nile's statement, but offers up that much - though his tone is a little less monotone, a little less casual than usual, he tries to steer the conversation back a little bit. "-I expect you'll meet her once we're at the secure point at the tavern," - which, Nile said he'd do, he'd be meeting them briefly and also to get acquainted with the Dame Legate as he's been so distracted with active duty that it borders on rude that he hasn't met with the diplomatic envoy once.

"I'd meet her now if I could but," Nile glances at a pocket watch he has, and lets out a short, irritated noise. "-but I need to go and brief Aiblinger and talk to Zachary on my own, apparently there's been more shit going on under my damn nose and that Instructor Ludolf has been turning recruits into paste and has just not had any damn oversight," - Erwin frowns a little, that's concerning - one of the instructors for the western branch of military training facilities is apparently causing enough problems that it surpasses regular soldier hazing, and the MPs are meant to have oversight, but, as Erwin knows, the MPs are still rooting out a lot of their corruption issues as best they can, and Nile is always drowning in some mess or another.

"I'm up to my neck in problems," Nile says, rubbing his eyes tiredly "- expect the convoy to mostly be managed by Aiblinger, any issues and you can't grab me? Go through him and I'll catch up with it all later," with that, Nile rises, and says his goodbyes to the man.

"Of course," Erwin opens the door for his friend, and bids his goodbyes, because unwittingly - Nile has given him more to chew on. It bothers him less that it's so noticeable, because Pixis' choice of words - _a little taken -_ aren't the worst descriptor in the world, and Premier Zachary did not seem remotely bothered, nor did he bring up anything in that sort of vein, so there shouldn't be any issues at the security council meeting. What bothered Erwin was that it had been a good, long time since he'd spoken like that with his friend, and in truth he did not liaise with Nile nearly as much as he probably should, but even from one meeting a short moment afterwards, he was able to pick up on Erwin's feelings.

_Hm. Levi was right. I'm becoming obvious._

He sighs a bit, and wonders, not for the first time, how he'd let himself slip so badly that even Nile Dok is calling him out.

* * *

The frenetic excitement continues all the way up to the point that the Vaziran men are shuttled into carriages. A few of them are saying their goodbyes to the friends that they'd managed to make out of the soldiers they'd stayed in close quarters with, since a few of them did actually manage to do some socialising. Surprisingly, even Augustine is present when you're about to leave, Irma was expected, and practically buries her face in your chest - mostly due to the fact you're quite a bit taller than her, but her brother - who seems to be much less of a fan, turns up and joins, albeit awkwardly.

"C'mon, it's time to go," it's actually the Yeager boy whose trying to jostle you into a carriage, only for you to wave him off, reluctantly untangling yourself from the pair.

"You're ruinin' my dreams hun, tearing me away from being sandwiched between two beautiful blonds," - at this, Eren actually looks a little awkward, but you thankfully don't protest any more and let him cajole you into a carriage. You're riding with Sahtar, who naturally takes up a fair bit of space, though it's a four person carriage, your stations award you with a bit more privacy, while the special operations squad will be riding on open horseback surrounding the convoy. There is an air of secrecy around all of you, that much you'd been made aware of, so the curtains in each carriage are drawn, but all of you are peeping through to soak in the way the Eldians live. Apparently they don't want to overly expose you and your men prior to meeting the Queen and getting an official stance on where the Crown stood with the nation of Vazira, so they could tailor public relations accordingly. It made sense, you suppose - even if it seems a little overkill to you, these people hadn't even seen others who look _this different before._ and honestly believed they were the last vestiges of humanity. 

The government and the regiments just want to make sure that there is an official stance before the Vazirans are unleashed into civilian company, because no doubt the press will need to also issue a statement, and they'll likely also be considering public reception too - rather than just telling people what to think, the way the old press used to. The homes you pass have a nice, classical sort of beauty to them, they're largely wood panelling that reminds you of your mountain village, whereas the Vazira capital and more industrialised places were brick, clay and mortar. The bustling people seem to pause and glance over curiously as they passed the convoy, you meet a few of their eyes, but you move so fast that it's incredibly fleeting.

It's a ride that would take an entire day and a bit, with only a few rest stops at the walls, because they wanted to get to the palace as quickly as possible. It did make the journey feel particularly gruelling by the sixth hour, which, whilst not a patch on how long you'd spent on horseback in the titan fields, it was that much more stifling in a cramped carriage. Everyone got out at the wall pit stops, to stretch their legs and muscles a bit and make short restroom trips, but these stops were short and sweet, and no longer than twenty minutes.

Sahtar notes that you don't even look in the direction of the commander on these rest stops, nor does he look at you - there is some concerted effort in keeping a bit of distance, but he doesn't comment on it. There's sneaked, peripheral glances, but nothing more. If the Levi squad are at all exhausted from riding on open horseback beside the convoy, none of them show it, but visibly, by hour seven, you can tell from the tiredness on Yeager's face that it's starting to hit.

The Survey Corps commander is riding alongside high ranking MP officer Dennis Aiblinger, who feels tangibly awkward sharing a space with the too-serious man when he's much more the type to drink and gamble while on the clock, trying not to take things too seriously. He's young as senior ranking officers go, with an abundance of tawny brown hair and unshaved stubble, and could be considered good looking, even if he gives off airs of being somewhat unkempt from his general laziness that seeps into other facets of his life, including grooming.

He fits naturally in the tavern atmosphere upon arrival, and his casual airs make it seem too natural when he's up at the bar, his form arched down while he rubs his chin thoughtfully, gazing at the black markings on the Dame Legate's lower stomach. The Military Police are a mixed bag, but the particular officers in charge of supporting the Survey Corps seem to be the easily distracted sort, save for perhaps Boris Feulner, but even he is in her general aura. Their roles as guards were very quickly becoming more casual in nature when it became apparent that there wasn't much, if any, resistance from the Vazirans, who were infinitely more distracted by the fact they were being let loose in a tavern for the first time since they left their nation.

The tavern itself is large, but cosy - and is managed by a husband and wife duo, though the husband is currently on a business trip, leaving a rather over-stressed older women to try and clean up after the rambunctious men. The alcohol and food was apparently all open bar, and was being bankrolled by the Crown as cautious welcome to the Vazirans, who hadn't arrived with much, and the men were relishing in it. They're briefly stared at, Military Police included, but quickly they adapt to their presence - they're just darker, a bit excitable and sound different, but don't seem all together too far away from being just regular people - Aiblinger quickly concludes.

You'd managed to get Officer Aiblinger into casual conversation, alongside a somewhat dour Boris Feulner, who had steered the conversation curiously to the body markings that were visible through most of the Vaziran's clothing, with only yours being on your front. The idea of an entire culture practising a form of body modification seemed like it was the strangest thing Aiblinger had ever heard of, and he was a little fascinated, truth be told - and could be found scratching his head a little bit, asking surprisingly open questions.

"Interesting," Aiblinger muses, glancing up at you from being roughly head level with your stomach. You're leaning with your back to the bar, the backs of your elbows resting lazily on the oak wood surface, pelvis forward and a naturally cocky sort of demeanour. 

"Did it hurt?" - this makes Ryka snort, whose sidled up next to you. Officer Aiblinger is probably the most laid back person of higher ranking you'd come across so far, and lacks the sharp discipline that exudes from Captain Levi, and whilst his MP insignia is a little off-putting, his easygoing nature fits in rather naturally, and if anything he seems a bit relieved by not having to do much more than just chaperone. It's difficult not to look at the MPs with some level of judgement, naturally - even though Erwin had assured you that a lot had changed over time and that the brigade is a lot less corrupt than it used to be, it's difficult not to look at them with some measure of distaste.

To your credit, you do a good enough job of hiding it.

"Mm, round the sides, closer to my chest, right here - where you can feel the ribs the most," - Ryka doesn't react when you start too-casually popping buttons so he can get a better look, and none of the Vazirans really turn around or so much as bat an eyelash, the scouts are used to it all a bit more now, but some of the military police are a bit flustered by the casualness. 

"Right up here hun," you gesture to the area of your side, right to where your bustier begins where skin is thinnest to to the rib-cage. "-incredibly sore, very, very painful - everywhere else, less so," - Ryka nods when you say this - and couldn't quite imagine having his marks on his front, the back at least seemed a lot less painful and sensitive than the abdomen and underbust. 

"Damn, they look deep," Aiblinger murmurs, though his stare has turned from pure fascination to appreciative, a faint flush visible on his skin. 

"Give 'em a touch if you want," you shrugged lazily, not reacting when the man blinks owlishly, before gingerly reaching out with the flat of his thumb. Ryka doesn't seem remotely phased, as he'd actually had a fair few of the scouts back in the barracks do something similar once they'd worked up the courage to approach him, but Officer Dennis Aiblinger was, perhaps, rather openly reflecting that he did not necessarily behave the way somebody in his position should. That said, your equivalent rank being far higher than his, and your blasé openness, made this rather strange and unprecedented, so all his subordinates could do was watch, with their own curiousness. The openness of the Vazirans was, whilst also surprising, very reassuring, and they seemed to be patient and forgiving despite how utterly imposing they looked, and patiently answered questions the MPs levied at them - however insensitively or bluntly they got phrased.

"Oh! That's - something," Aiblinger is surprised when the blackened grooves have a noticeable, raised sensation, and that he isn't looking at flat paint on skin but scarification in its most ancient form. "-I don't think I'd have joined the army if I had to do that," he muses - which earns a derisive snort from Ryka.

"The hazing is pretty rough, but earning your stripes is usually a sign that it's about to stop," Ryka pauses, a little teasing "-unless you're the Dame," - as, unlike most, you went through absolute Hell for two years following your marks - you're at the point of having come so far that this remark doesn't dampen your mood, but you do pull an expression of distaste for the subject matter.

"We're a rough sort," you say, casually, not addressing the statement in favour of brushing it off completely "-but the brotherhood is that much stronger for surviving it, trust me Officer," - which gets a thoughtful noise from Aiblinger, whose scratching his stubbly chin. 

The Commander can't say that he likes it, but he's pointedly not looking in the direction of the bar, instead, he has a cup of whiskey, and watches the reflection of it carefully, feeling a needling sense of annoyance which hadn't been so obviously present when he'd observed the Dame's casual flirtations with the Wagners. It's probably the fact Aiblinger is also of high rank, and not somebody you're particularly looking to befriend, as you seem to be humouring his company, and doing your best to have the MPs eating out of your hands rather than have them as a persistent watching shadow. It's probably smart, and on some level, it's likely to place more distance on the rumours about just how close you're getting to Erwin prior to the security council meet, but it didn't mean the blond was particularly pleased by it.

In fact, he's surprised by just how much it's irritating him, and opts to take a sip of his drink rather than continue to watch the reflection of what's playing out at the bar, in favour of keeping an eye on the door.

Commander Erwin has his own booth, and is sat with Sahtar, waiting patiently for the arrival of Commander Nile, as Pixis would be coming the next day and going with the convoy directly to the palace. His friend promised to make a little time beforehand to meet the Legates, considering how much active duty had taken him away, and when Nile arrives, it's not quite what he expects.

Sahtar, in every sense, looks the part. Imposing, taking up a good portion of the booth and his black eyes unnerving those of lesser constitution, the size of the man's arms were almost comparable to his head. He's dressed in his uniform, which had been cleaned some, and the pauldrons give him an added layer of indomitable, unconquerable airs that the broad-shouldered man did not need. Commander Nile's eyes flicker briefly to the silver chain across his chest, and the lotus pin that is understated, but looks like it has intricate detail and inscription if pulled off and examined closely.

If Sahtar catches Erwin's unspoken agitation, he doesn't say anything - and truth be told, the blond does an excellent job of remaining impassive. The pair sit across from one another, with Sahtar occasionally interjecting when Rahib or Ryka are being just a little too rowdy, noticing just how harried the tavern keeper was getting.

"Ah, you must be Vice Legate Sahtar - if I'm pronouncing that correctly?" Commander Nile is quite polite, and doesn't seem to be unnerved by Sahtar's casually imposing nature - at least not outwardly. Sahtar nods, and shakes the man's hand firmly, surprising Nile with how delicate the handshake is. He takes a seat beside Erwin, and then looks around the bar, seeing a cluster of his soldiers at the front, he can't really see over them from his seat, but asks politely for the Dame Legate's whereabouts. In truth, Nile doesn't know what to expect of the kind of person who manages to capture the attentions of someone who grew to be the sort of man Erwin Smith is.

He certainly didn't expect _that._

Sahtar had let out a vaguely put-out sort of sigh, before crudely thumbing to the bar over his shoulder and calling out the Dame Legate by name, barely having to raise his naturally booming voice much at all for it to carry across the entire tavern, and begin parting the soldiers so that Nile could see.

At the bar, the older woman, with streaks of grey in her mousy brown hair was nervously fluttering around for a bottle opener for the beer that is next to your hands, which are resting on the edge of the bar, your elbows still leaning on it with your back turned. He can see that Officer Aiblinger is noticeably flush, arched over to peer at a woman's exposed tanned torso - the Dame Legate, he realises, with immediate effect. For a moment, he doesn't know where to put his eyes, mostly because he's not really used to seeing women like that in public unless he's arresting them for solicitation. 

_Well, that's needlessly harsh_ , Nile muses - _she's just - well - casual about it_ , _rather than attempting to be sexually flirtatious,_ even if Aiblinger's eyes are wandering pretty much everywhere, from hip to chest. The Dame is a tall woman, with wide hips, thickset thighs and tall combat boots, poured into borrowed uniform gear, at least, the trousers and a sleeveless dress shirt, he recognises, which is unbuttoned completely down the front. The thick, black tiger stripes from both the left and right side of your torso, peeking out from the underbust of a discoloured, red and black bustier that looks like it's seen better days. There's a hard set of abdominal muscles and those stripes that sink deeply into the waistline, which, he sees your thumb threaded into, tugging the trousers down suggestively on your hips to show where the marks end.

"Those go all the way down?" - had been the catalyst for it, and Sahtar shouts for you mid-way you showing the curious MPs just how far they go.

"To the top of the hip, actually --" you pause, hearing Sahtar call you by name from one of the tavern booths to the far corner of the room. 

"Oh, I'm being called, give me a moment Officer," you pick up your bottled beer, and see the woman behind the bar fretting a bit more - trying to find an opener - it seemed she mostly served from the tap and that bottle beer is less of something this particular tavern does, but you just give her a reassuring smile, having seen her do her best to pick up after all of your rambunctious men.

"I haven't found you an opener yet--" she says hurriedly, as though trying to stop you leaving before she gets the top off. 

"Cool down there little mama, I've got you," you drawl, pulling your metal hair pin out of your bun, sending your hair sprawling down your back, before jamming it under the cap and busting the beer open with a practised ease. There's a content grin on your face, and before you leave, you coolly remind the Vazirans at the bar to pace themselves a bit - if only for the sake of the harried woman, Clara, who looks at you gratefully for the statement, and is a little intimidated by some of the more assertive, and loud of the group.

Nile watches this with some interest, eyes flickering to Erwin, and then back at you as you turn around, a grin on your face, and golden Lotus chain denoting your rank as Dame Legate jammed crudely into your now low-hanging waistband, hair messily falling down in waves. When you come a little closer, he can see the bruises formed along the musculature of your exposed arms, and how you ooze a sense of casual confidence, moving entirely with hips and hair in a manner that can only be described as bold.

_Young,_ is the first thought that comes to mind, and when you sidle up next to Sahtar - and then _nothing at all like Marie -_ because you make no attempt at modesty and buttoning up, and just sit casually, knees shoulder-width apart and a sort of lazy, ungraceful gait about you that is distinctly unladylike, and gives off the sense that you're not often in the company of women much, lacking a lot of the casual habits and body language you should probably have - _Is this really your type, Erwin?_

_Extremely pretty in the face, though -_ Commander Nile has to acknowledge, he's not blind - the bright amber eyes, full bow-lips and and soft, dark hair - Pixis was right on the money with his description, he realised - and men would overlook a lot just for that alone, but he gets the sense from the way that Erwin's eyes stick on your hips and then your eyes that he's rather taken with the entire look, which, to be honest, he didn't expect. 

"Sorry about that," you give your trademark crooked smile and stick your hand out towards the man " - you've got a curious bunch over there," gesturing with a flick of your hair back towards the bar.

Nile resists the urge to berate Aiblinger, and just nods shortly.

"Don't worry about it, I'm just sorry it took me this long to make your acquaintance, I'm Commander Nile Dok - Erwin may have spoken of me," - in truth, Erwin didn't, but you just flick your eyes to the man with an unspoken curiosity, but don't make it awkward, and instead just smile benignly at the Commander of the Military Police, noting the wedding band on his finger as he shakes your calloused palm firmly.

"Ah, you're _Commander Nile,_ " you don't refute his words, and just acknowledge his mention in passing instead "-I was told you had more active duty in the interior, duty can't be helped, eh?" letting go of his hand, you cannot help but feel his stare boring under your skin, like he's searching for something, but you're not sure what.

"Well, I'm sure you've been told, but for nicety - I'm Dame Legate Senset," you pause, and then shrug " - no last name, at least, not from our part of Vazira," you elbow Sahtar - who just nods curtly.

_Interesting, why didn't I know that?_ Erwin thinks, and wonders just how much he doesn't know, even now.

"It's a pleasure," Nile states, only for you to just brush it off with a smile and a sip of beer " - There isn't too much business we need to go through right now, as Aiblinger should have taken you through it, and a lot of the work is - mostly - on our end. I just wanted to meet the woman of the hour myself," you raise a brow at this, and then it clicks - when you see Nile glance briefly at Erwin, and then you.

_They're friends?_

"I expect we'll be in each other's business while we're in the cities," you say with a shrug "-we should at least be familiar, no? I know my specialists can be a handful, and you haven't really had any exposure to the outside in a while. Erwin went over your press pack a little with me, soft integration is probably for the best. Frankly, we're just glad you let us in, in the first place and didn't feed us to your pet titan boy," your tone, now a slightly dangerous drawl, as if to say that's something Vazira might have considered had the shoe been on the other foot, and the situation been different. "So that's already a more positive reception than we were prepared to receive.". 

The idea of feeding someone to Eren Yeager honestly hadn't crossed Nile's mind at any point, but he could see how an outside power might be concerned about that, and the wall titans they apparently know of - according to the reports he skimmed over. What Commander Nile notices is that you're incredibly blunt, and don't mince your words one bit, looking exactly as rough as the atmosphere you exude, it's rustically charming, in its own way - but he struggles to picture your unbuttoned, brash and brazen self standing in the Queen's court - he supposes they'll cross that bridge tomorrow, and hope you're a little more neat and put together.

"Thank you for not taking offence to the closed-curtain measures," Nile says, because in truth, it could have been taken wrongly - choosing to squirrel you all away in carriages before going to the palace, but you wave it off with ease. It wasn't malicious, the truth is, nobody knows what they're doing, and so you're actually surprisingly lenient, as the Eldians had been nothing but accommodating - feeding, clothing and providing medical care to you and your men.

"Thank _you_ for rescuing our asses from the titan forest," you snort, and then look at Erwin, a smile on your face. "Well - thank this guy in particular, but yes, you've all been accommodating considering we're a bunch of strangers from the ass end of nowhere," you raise your bottle up appreciatively, and take a sip "-and the open bar is definitely making me like you lot a whole lot more," - Erwin doesn't react much, but does raise his glass to yours with a small hint of a smile that his friend catches in his peripheral vision.

"That's the Crown's treasury for you, they don't usually spoil us like this," Nile says wryly, finding it surprisingly easy to speak to you, all things considered. At that moment - you hear a clatter, which pauses the conversation between everybody when the sound of a chair falling over from the suddenness of a more inebriated Rahib getting up quickly, echoes through the tavern - and nearly sends the poor barkeeper, who has a tray full of many, many empty glasses, almost falling to the ground as she walks by trying to clean up. A few break on the floor with a clatter, and you narrow your eyes as she rushes to clean up, some of the Levi squad looking like they're about to jump in and help.

"Hold that thought Commander," your wonky smile drops on a dime, and you snap your neck to the left suddenly, your voice raising with the same all-encompassing boom that Sahtar has, only with a higher sharpness from your feminine tones, causing conversation to lower in volume immediately.

" _Rahib! Here, now!"_ you glance at Clara, the barkeeper, and give her a small smile " - you take a load off a second," - causing her to pause mid glass collection, and opt for holding the few still on her tray in place instead of try to scoop up the glass and mop up the spilled beer dregs soaking her wooden floors.

The man clambers over, and haphazardly salutes you - from the wrong side of his head, and you roll your eyes exasperatedly, you knew the men were stir crazy but you'd warned them in the barracks to be better behaved, and not only that, but Sahtar had warned them all once already when they were getting rowdy - and you were not in the habit of repeating yourself. Even if you were in extraordinary circumstances, you had a high level of expectation for the men, particularly these men, who were your handpicked specialists, your mountain survivors - _family -_ people you considered _brothers._

Well, brothers when they behaved, any way.

"You're drunk as a skunk aren't ya?" you ask rhetorically, only for Rahib to, well, _hiccup_ in response, before smiling blithely.

"I res'mble that remark," Rahib says, before acknowledging the Vice Legate and other Commanders, who had gone quiet as you addressed the soldier, a firmness in your tone that had been devoid during the easygoing conversation prior. Annoyed at having to repeat yourself, and from the stress you'd seen on the older woman's face, you take your beer and begin pouring some on the ground near his feet, causing Nile to bristle a bit - making him want to say something on instinct before you slam the beer down loud enough that the clang feels like it echoes.

"Get on your knees and clean that up," you barked, and, without question - surprisingly, Rahib buckles to his knees, and then looks up at you, a bit of realisation dawning when he looks in your eyes and sees that you're no longer joking around, but are in fact, annoyed.

_Never get the Dame Legate annoyed._

"Erm yeah, yes, yes my Dame - I need--" he looked at his hands miserably, only for you to snap at him sharply. 

"Use your damn shirt, boy!" - this makes Sahtar visibly grimace - and some of the men, who can now noticeably be seen sheepishly picking up the knocked over chairs and discreetly grabbing drink coasters and mopping up after themselves - it'd almost be comical if the atmosphere didn't drop from jaunty to tense in the span of a millisecond.

Surprisingly, for both Commanders present, Rahib takes his shirt off without question - without any inch of shame on his face that's visible, and begins sliding it over the beer that had been purposefully poured onto the ground near your feet. Now, you're not pointlessly cruel, or humiliating, like Umman was - who'd do this sort of thing for fun, but as easygoing as you are, you are absolutely a disciplinarian where it counts, and right now, when things are so high stakes on this alliance? It counts.

That, and you couldn't stand a stressed out pretty girl.

"Not nice is it, Rahib?" you bite out sharply, feeling the commanders staring at you in mild shock and morbid curiosity as you directed your ire fully at your subordinate.

"No my Dame," - he knows he's in trouble, because you're calling him _boy_ intermittently rather than his name, there's no hint of amusement on your face, and he knows he can't get away with the usual camaraderie you had with the specialists because the fun side of you was currently on pause - right now, he and your men knew for a fact the only thing you'd want to hear is _yes, my Dame._

_"No,_ of course it fucking isn't," you spit out " - I just poured this on your feet and disrespected you, and that's what you're doing to this nice lady whose _graciously_ given us her home and business. I said best behaviour once already, do I repeat myself?"

"No my Dame!"

"You're damn fucking right I don't, and if you're making me do it, then I'm going to have to stop treating you like my brother and have to teach you your damn manners. Do I look like your fucking mother?" you make a point, because you know the very loud Ryka is looking at you, and the temperamental Ashwari, and the last thing you need is a repeat of this just because they want to get Vaziri-drunk. Yes, it's harsh, but they'd been getting away with it for a while, even moreso back at the barracks where it was a bit more acceptable, but not here, in a tavern which was also somebodies home. Nope. Not on. Not acceptable.

"No my Dame!" Rahib strangles out, visibly shrinking a bit, which, again, for a man his size - and older than you, would almost be comical if the mute fear of disappointing you wasn't so visibly acute in his eyes.

"Then stop making me have to son your ass!" you bark, before looking up at the men at the bar "-that goes for all of you! Don't think you're too old for me to do it, because you know I will," - it's now that you see Rahib has cleaned up the small mess with his shirt, causing you to lodge your fingers in his hair, as he's currently - rather embarrassingly still - on his knees by your feet, which would be overwhelmingly difficult to look at - if only because of the vicarious embarrassment that Nile found himself feeling, if he wasn't so plunged into shock. Much like a house fire, he just can't stop himself from watching, a little bit awed, giving Erwin the occasionally muted expression of wonder, as if to say, _this woman, really?_

You drag Rahib up by the hair a bit, leaning down from the side of the booth to look down at him, almost bumping your forehead against his.

"Now you go over to that mess you made you little asshole, pick up that glass, mop that spot, and _thank her,_ " you gesture with your head towards an awkwardly flushing, open-mouthed barkeeper, purring dangerously to the man "-for the pleasure, understood?"

"Yes my Dame!" - at this, you let go of the man, who practically scrambles away, the tavern now lapsed into an awkward low-ambient sound silence, even Aiblinger is just staring at you, with less appreciation and more of mute wonder and shock. The loyalty of the Vazirans had always been unquestionable when they realised how defensive they were when they were questioned about their leadership but none of them, scouts included, had seen you discipline these men quite so sharply, nor the unwavering obedience that they truly had until just then. 

It's only in that moment that, the lack of any visible shame or anger told them that the fear of disappointing you was far greater than any of their masculine pride, and truly, that was something to behold.

It had Erwin's heart jumping in his throat, he can see that Nile's looking at him with a raised, sceptical brow, but all the blond can do is exhale slowly and appreciatively as you recline back, looking over at Clara briefly.

"You good little mama?" the short barkeeper nods hurriedly, and turns bright red at the suddenly many sets of eyes on her, to which you turn your attention to the men at the bar, declaring _avizeh -_ instructing them to go at ease as you turn back to the commanders with a bright, apologetic smile that juxtaposed your annoyance and sharp words so much that Nile almost has whiplash. Your temper was fierce, like balancing on the tip of a knife, on one hand you're quite easygoing, but one hint of disrespect and you're quick to close your jaws around the source and rip its head clean off.

_Formidable, huh?_ Nile thinks, eyes slightly wide.

"Sorry! Sorry about that, my boys - they're good boys, they just get a bit - excitable, and forget themselves when they've had a few," you said, rolling your hand a bit and speaking with your entire body, lapsing back into your casual airs, while only Sahtar seems entirely nonplussed by what just occurred.

"Mm. We're pains in the neck," Sahtar chuckled a bit, surprising both men present, if only because he doesn't seem the type to laugh so openly, and every time Erwin's heard it - it made him a little uneasy, now is no exception - it seemed the Vice Legate had a dark sense of humour, and found the whole thing amusing. 

"Listen, if I start getting grey hairs before I hit thirty, you can blame these pricks," you said, folding your arms under your chest with a mildly petulant sort of heave.

"She loves us really," Sahtar quips, a small grin on his face, even when you read over to flick him squarely in the temple, your seriousness breaking down to complete nothingness in the moment and - incidentally, shattering some of the looming, foreboding atmosphere given off from the inscrutability and sheer size of the Vice Legate as you do.

"Someone's got to," you say with an exaggerated sniff, blissfully unaware of the silent looks exchanged between both Commanders.

Nile noticed how Erwin's eyes never left you, and despite him saying almost nothing, he can see he's hardly blinking - just soaking you in, in your entirety. It's subtle, because to most he just looks like he's paying careful attention, and he is, but Nile can recognise the look for what it is.

_Now that's a woman -_ he can't say he's as uncomfortable as perhaps he should be, all the exchange did, however, was fill Erwin with a jarringly inappropriate urge that he had to very viciously stamp down on. Shamefully, the only thing going through Erwin Smith's mind as you dragged your soldier up by the hair and snarled in his face - was one embarrassingly carnal thought - 

_Why is that so damn appealing?_

If he had to guess, it's probably a combination of watching you exert control, but also, the rather steamy situation you'd locked him into the last time you were alone together. Frankly, the obvious bedroom eyes and quiet, unyielding look from the blond is a giveaway to anybody who knows him, but you don't do anything to indicate a closeness with the man, dutifully playing your part if only for the presence of Nile and the other Eldians. Strangely, he has an overwhelming urge to reach out over the table and touch you in some way, but, having no reason to, all he can do is look you over appreciatively, tongue instinctively licking over his lower lip.

"Commander Erwin," you address him directly and all too innocently considering what had transpired, eyes flickering up to his and instantly seizing the air with a palpable sort of tension. "You're running on empty, would you like another?" you gesture to his drink, and pull him into conversation as he'd been quiet the duration.

"Ah, yes, you're right," he signals the barkeeper, whose looking a lot less harried than she had before, and smiles openly at you, which is his first slip. "-Now, Legates," he addresses you both "- as late as it is, there is some unfinished business I wanted to ask about, as we're all here," Erwin does an excellent job of seeming on point, and on task, addressing the Dame and Vice, though his eyes stick firmly to you.

"Your indefinite stay with us, and your permanent quarters," - it lapsed into easy conversation enough, but it's important nonetheless. True to form, Erwin had already made his choices, but he needed to talk about it rather than just action it all without consulting anybody, the logical conclusion is, however, to share arrangements with his regiment. Not only is his regiment responsible for outside contact, but the fact they're so understaffed gives them more room in their barracks and despite having lesser funding, though that was changing, the Garrison was oversubscribed and tight for space, but it needed to be laid out clearly nonetheless that the Survey Corps were the only place they could stay.

Unless the Crown stated otherwise - such as for some political reason - there was no cause for Nile to interject, but he does notice how so convenient this happened to be - for Erwin anyway.

_Nothing else for it,_ the Military commander mused _the man's besotted._

* * *

Each of the men had been given their own quarters, or, in a pinch, were doubling up so that some of Levi squad could get their own rooms after riding on horseback for so long. Originally, the plan was that they all squeeze together in larger, family rooms but the Vazirans were surprisingly generous, and Amir very vocally expressed that it was unnecessary, and loudly pitied them having to ride beside the convoy on horseback for nine hours.

"Your backsides must be aching by now! Go - go take the room. Reza's used to me snoring, it's fine," - and that was that. Originally, you had discussed with Erwin to get as many individual rooms or doubled rooms up for the men as possible to try and give them privacy, taking connecting suites and splitting them just to give them a reward of some measure of privacy after being in the titan wastelands for so long. Admittedly, your nicer quarters had been the source of some guilt as you're used to slumming it with them, so having an officer's room had made you feel a bit odd initially, and upon hearing your reasoning, Erwin agreed - however, him, Captain Levi, and yourself, still ended up with singles. In order to split things up more and get more rooms out of the tavern, Erwin took a splitting room instead of keeping it as a pointlessly large suite, and sets up his shoes to the small shoe rack at the side of his bed.

He can tell that his friend just doesn't quite understand the mild hangup he has over the Dame Legate. When you'd left with Sahtar to find your room, he'd even said as much.

"Bit rough isn't she?" was all Nile could really say, but Erwin levelled him with a look that could only be described as smothered appreciation. "-didn't think that was your type."

"She's everybody's type," was what leaked out of Erwin's mouth before he could stop it, which ended the conversation then and there, with Nile just openly smirking at him as he retreated to his quarters for the night.

_Hells, what have I done? This is too close._

All he can think about is how you got into Rahib's face, and the tight, desperate moment in his office that made him fumble completely. When he sits on his stiff bed, and looks over at the wall, he lets out a slow, strained exhale when his eyes land on the connecting door.

He knows he's responsible for making the rooms connecting - in order to fulfil the request to give your men as much space as possible, but having you so temptingly close and not the Vice Legate was entirely his own doing, and after what felt like hours of staring at that door, mind racing, he knows he's entirely at fault for it - helpfully, however, the fact they're connecting is not known to anyone except him and the tavern keeper, at least.

He knows the tavern is crawling with MPs and Scouts, and that even though most of them are resting, there is a casual guard rotation, emphasised by the shadows passing underneath the crack beneath his door when he hears people walking past. The walls are, in fact, incredibly thin for a tavern, or perhaps Erwin is just hyper aware right now, he's not sure. There's a twisting sensation in his gut when he thinks about the way you looked at him in his office, and pushed your entire frame against his, juxtaposed with the sensation of light awe at the sheer force of respect you had squeezed from men who far exceeded you in age and size generally speaking. It has him going out of his head - if he's honest - just purely reeling from seeing how you conduct yourself with raw confidence and muted power that he only ever had a _sense_ of from the stories.

Seeing it, even just a little tiny bit of it, was something else entirely.

_Does dirty talk turn you on Commander?_

He bites down on his lip a bit, and lets out a short sigh, standing up and making his way to the connecting door, before letting out three quiet but well spaced knocks, trying not to raise the attention of anybody who might be standing posted by the doors or walking around in the corridor.

For a moment, nothing happens, and the blond begins turning away, concluding you're probably asleep. Opening this door, physically and metaphorically speaking, would be inviting in trouble - he's supposed to be keeping his hands off of you, he's supposed to not look so obviously close to you as he so clearly is, otherwise he'd have found a reason to pull you into conversation away from that damn Aiblinger and his wandering hands, He had been doing a fairly decent job, he thinks, of not seeming too attached on the surface, even if his friend reads him easily, there was nothing done on the bar floor or the ride there that raised any odd looks or playful whispers among the soldiers.

He'd been doing so damn well, but then, of course, all good things must come to an end - because the connecting door creaks open slowly, revealing you standing there - brow raised and still in your outdoor clothes, though still unbuttoned. Commander Erwin is thankful, at least, because if you answered in anything less, he's not sure he's in the headspace to cope, between the exchange in his office and what he'd witnessed with your men, he's unfathomably hot and bothered by it, and is not in the mood to have himself reduced to fumbles and wordlessness.

When you don't say anything right away, you gesture with a jerk of your head to the shadows moving beneath the closed locked door of your split room, and put your finger to your lips, a playful glint in your eye. You mouth a gentle, questioning "Yes?" to him, and tilt your head a little curiously, wondering if he wanted to risk continuing what was happening not so long ago in his office back at Survey Corps HQ.

Erwin doesn't reply, however, just glancing and following your line of sight, before brushing it off completely. He walks through the open door, walking into your space and then reaching for the wrist of the hand that is currently placed against your lip in a playful gesture of _quiet, you don't want to be heard, do you?_

It surprises him a little how both of you don't need to say anything, all the unspoken words are said with just the look in his eyes and yours, but a short gasp of surprise escapes before you can stop it. It's a little loud, and comes from the depths of your diaphragm when the Commander moves the hand away from your mouth assertively. In this moment, Commander Erwin is looking down on you from his slightly taller height, packing his larger body against yours and walking you back and making you pivot a little on your heel - almost like a too graceful dance you don't know the moves to - until you feel your back gently connecting with one of the walls in your room.

A warmth spreads through your body when the commander presses into you, seeping through your clothes and directly to the exposed parts of your torso from the unbuttoned dress shirt. Commander Erwin is in far too many layers for your liking, but in truth, he's gotten you by surprise and your body is just melting under the unexpected, pleasant, voluntarily sensual touch from someone who is self-confessed as frigid. It's overwhelming for a moment, but you quickly melt into it, your body lining up with his too perfectly for it to feel anything but natural, your heart racing between your lungs.

His hand - the one which has your wrist pinned to your side near your head, moves up so that his palm encapsulates yours and your fingers thread through his in a strangely intimate fashion for how benign the action is compared to how much more sensual everything else between you was in this moment. Erwin stares down at you intensely, his eyes boring into you, his closeness forcing you to take in just how handsome he is up close, firm jaw, high cheekbones and teasingly close mouth that gave you an overwhelming urge to lean up and push your mouth onto his.

Instead, he leans in, close enough now that he can whisper in the softest and most dulcet of tones, so that only you can hear, directly into your left ear.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to make you forget all about Aiblinger and the Wagners."

Your heart skips a beat at this, and though he's whispering, there's something utterly low and almost foreboding in his tone that actually drives a shiver of delight down your spine - had you unintentionally made the Commander feel a little jealous? It wasn't the goal, his words instantly cause a surge of unexpected warmth and a tingling sensation to course up your arms and down your thighs.

Not so long ago, the man had been too frigid to even hug you properly, but wherever this dominating version of the scout commander came from, you liked it.

"Oh yeah?" you whisper back, a glint of mischief and curiosity burning in your stare, though you're not nearly as thrown off by it as Erwin was when the shoe was on the other foot, you push up against him a little, as though trying to settle back into that purposeful little grind that had the blond fumbling for words and hardening in his trousers. This time, however, you just feel the man shift a little, before pressing himself meaningfully into your hips, a lot less awkward and clumsy than he'd been in his office, having initiated and kept some control of the situation. For the first time, Erwin has you on the back foot a little, and God, his timing his terrible, because in any other situation, he'd have taken you then and there.

"Yes," his voice, a smooth, rich sort of husky even as a quiet murmur just in your ear, it's full of promise, and you gasp a little in surprise when this self-confessed frigid man has his other hand wandering down the side of your torso appreciatively, his fingers lingering and tracing over every indent and raised tiger mark it touches, with far more sensuality and daring than Officer Aiblinger dared muster, before his thumb dips a little into the waistband of your trousers, settling neatly on your hip and no further, causing a strangely comfortable sensation of yearning to start forming in the pit of your stomach.

_Tease. He's teasing me back, the bastard - the nerve -_

"All you have to do -" he exhales quietly, his breath raising goosebumps along the skin of your neck when he moves his hand out of your waistband and cautiously at the side of your thigh, before putting a small gap between your hips that almost made you want to growl in annoyance and push your entire body back against his for the sweet sensation of feeling his musculature against yours, and the growing arousal that was teasing you with just how close he was to you.

"- Is be patient," he says, causing you to bite down on your lip a bit when you know for a fact he's achingly hard and you would ride him into the floor if he'd just say to Hell with what might seep out under the door.

_Fuck, just give it to me already._

It's all out there now, he wants you - you want him, it's that simple, neither of you are airing much more complicated feelings than that, but circumstance is torturing you and you cannot help but feel like the commander might be exacting his revenge for being flirted with and left out of sorts by you so very often.

And maybe flirting with Aiblinger really did piss him off for whatever reason.

"You're such a tease," you murmur, gently but with an accusatory sort of tone in your reply, glancing at the door crack which was now absent of shadows from people walking outside, than back up at the man, it takes all of your dignity not to start rubbing up against him, even though you had a desperate urge to push your hips into the outline of his steadily mounting erection just for the sweet sensation of your clothes rubbing against you, and hopefully having a layer of separation that's so thin you could even derive some pleasure from it. God knows it's been long enough now that you think you could probably rut your way to feeling something even if you'd make a horribly embarrassing mess of the man's lap. This thought process actually makes your cheeks burn a little bit - because you haven't felt that sort of need in a while - and it's a frantic, desperate kind that only comes with a long stretch of celibacy and lack of touch, but satisfying it is something that's difficult to match and an experience all of its own, even if it is embarrassing from how needy it is. "You have to give me _something_ Commander," - you know you sound a little petulant, but when your mind is going in this sort of direction - it's hard to stop it. 

Erwin gets a sense of it, when he sees that you're rubbing your thighs together a little miserably, looking up at him with a dilated, desperate stare that betrays your body completely. 

" _Please_ ," you mumble.

He regrets slipping that this sort of talk is the sort of thing that gets to him, because hearing you plead like that is only making it that much harder - to make it so that this is just one stolen moment before you go to the palace tomorrow. Even though you're not talking with the same haughty, sexual confidence you were in his office, the neediness in your voice is easily worse, because he can feel his assertive control untangling by the second. He did, however, have some sort of plan going into this - something he'd been mulling over for a little bit, since he saw you flirting your way through the military police.

He just had to stay on focus.

Your words, however, jar him - because it gives him a sudden realisation that pierces his lustful haze and bring him back to his original, depraved little thought he'd been tossing around in his mind while he'd been staring pathetically at the connecting door, and watching you dominate your men with such ease. Your lip trembles a little before you can stop it when you feel Erwin's hand - the one on your outer leg, slip into your inner thigh, and slowly trace upwards until you unlock your legs and let his hand slide into the uncomfortably warm space between them both. 

"Because you asked nicely," Erwin murmurs, and then looks at your trembling lip - and feels his resolve crumble completely for a second, leaning down so that his mouth hovers just millimetres from yours - making them practically brush already. You close your eyes on instinct, and feel surprise when you feel him placing a small array of kisses along your jaw, and shiver on instinct when he starts from your lower left ear all the way to your chin. Now - you'd been around the block a few times, but you took whores, not lovers - and admittedly, the art of kissing did fall to the wayside more times than you'd cared to count, so the overtly sensuous and passionately placed traces of his lips mapping out your jawline sent a flurry of butterflies in your stomach that were reminiscent of - but somehow far worse - than when he'd done the same to your knuckle. 

Embarrassingly, you can feel yourself melting a little more under this sort of attention, because it's delicate and soft and not something that someone like you is ever afforded, so when you finally feel him work his way up to your mouth, you let out a semi-defeated moan into his mouth, only able to meet his softness by flicking your tongue greedily over his lower lip, and gently tugging at it with a sort of feral desire to claim him completely. It's a gentle tugging, but one that Erwin finds himself surprised by but oddly - liking the sensation of, as you pay a sort of special attention to his mouth that, admittedly, he doesn't think he's ever had, even if it rougher, and less tender than the purposeful litter of pecks he'd put so delicately on you.

It's not what you had in mind, but you can feel your heart start pounding in your ears from the pure intimacy of it.

"I'm a little backed up Commander," you gasp, when he finally releases his mouth from yours, and you look up at him with so much desire, he thinks he might break away from his plan completely - almost. He can feel a heat radiating from your face when you say this, almost like you're embarrassed by it, and it's now, with where his other hand is, that he can feel the material of your trousers clinging a little to his fingers when he pushes up against it, and your body answers his small movement with a desperate, keening twitch of your hips into his hand. "I think you might be too," you breathe heavily, but keep to a low tone for his sake, glancing down at his erection with what could only be described as an absolutely degenerate need to strip him down and use him on the spot.

_God, I don't think I've ever been looked at like that -_ Erwin groans a little internally - because you really are _too much -_ but he's trying desperately to keep hold of his original plan.

"We could - fix that," your words come out brokenly, because you can feel Erwin begin to move his fingers, and you smother down a surprised mewl, because he's sliding them pleasantly along the front of your crotch, still through a layer of clothes, but even still his skilful touch finds its way to tracing the entrance of your pussy, which, shouldn't affect you so much through a layer of clothing - but the clothing is definitely making it worse, you realise miserably. Not only can you feel yourself soaking through to his finger, making the layer of material feel pointless in how flimsy it's become, but it's rubbing against all your sensitive, raised nerves and importantly, where the tight, bundle of pleasure and raw nerves are just above your entrance. The layer of cotton is becoming so progressively damp that, when Erwin pushes his finger up a little, you can feel it teasing you that much more.

_Oh, fucking Hell, why does it feel better through clothes?_

A small moan escapes before you can help it, and Erwin's solution to that is to recapture your lips in his own, trying to ignore how utterly aroused and simultaneously floored he is by the level of desire that's currently soaking through his fingers even through a layer of clothing, all it's doing is sending his mind plummeting into the gutter, his dick aching for the sensation of actually being inside of you that he's wondering if he's actually getting you back for all of the teasing and flirting or if he's just punishing himself completely knowing he's not in a position to do anything about it.

"We will," Erwin promises quietly, pulling away from your lips and ignoring his own tingling from the gentle sensation of your teeth lightly pressing down on the lower one when he pulls back, as he's still not even sure why that feels so good. He does know, however, that he could kiss you for hours if time permitted, but he's not sure his body could cope with another night of aching with want.

It's now that you see a flash of a smirk on his face, one that's usually on yours.

"All you have to do is wait for a little while," he lets his fingers continue their ministrations for a bit - and you wonder narrowly if he has any idea how fucking _good_ that feels for a woman when he does it, because God - all he needs to do is just keep that up a little longer and you could just make a mess of this unifor---

"I'm just not very good at sharing," Erwin murmured " - so you'll just have to keep yourself warm for me for a while, and then," he paused for a moment, again, checking the door and feeling a wave of irritation at the sound of somebody walking past.

What he's saying, however, sinks in - _No Aiblinger, no Feulner, no Wagners. You wait for **me.**_

"I'll give you everything you want," he pulls back shakily - and one look tells you that the decision is killing him, ignoring how his body screams at him for breaking this moment, and tries to put aside the look of brief betrayal you give him when he retracts his hands, ignoring how they shine somewhat under the dim candlelight as the sordid reminder of just where they'd been.

Naturally, you have the option of caving in regardless, of ignoring the man's advances, of taking what you want - as you'd always had - he's asking you after all, and you're the type to tell him he's got no right to want you to himself, but you don't. You're sure that Officer Dennis would drop his drawers in a second if you knocked on his door with your hand down your front and asked him to take care of your needs, but fuck - none of them were Erwin Smith, and by the heavens - the man knew how to kiss.

For some reason, even though your body ached with a heavy yearning for his missing fingers, and his persistent bulge, all you can think of is his damn kiss. All of them. 

It's worth the wait, but, you think - your stomach in knots at this point - you're not letting him close this _fucking_ connecting door without getting the last word in.

"Fine," you say, lip jutting out stubbornly, an almost legitimate look of put-out annoyance on your face. "I suppose it'll be me and the bedpost tonight," - which instantly sets Erwin's mind down a new, depraved rabbithole, and would surely ruin him when he shuts the door and starts thinking about it, because he's already so, so incredibly turned on that he's not going to be able to ignore it for another eight hours and then limp to a cold shower. Not after having you bucking on his fingers, pleading with him to give you something. 

_I'm only human,_ he thought miserably.

"If you're," you glance down at him brazenly "-taking care of that yourself, and you're not one for sharing, my one condition is this," you give him a lecherous sort of look, the kind that tells him you're not just saying this just to feel like you have control again, but because you need him to do it, because you've got your own relief to seek. " - you better be thinking of me when you're touching yourself tonight,".

_fucking hell you're too much._

" - because I'm definitely thinking of you," and with that, you stand on your toes - a little needlessly - but if only to drive the point home, and place your lips against the left side of his face, squarely on his cheek, before you begin pushing him gently out of the room, closing the door reluctantly.

The thought of leaving it open did strike but, you very much doubted the self control you both had. Right now? It's as thin as a hair, so you don't even bring it up.

You leave Erwin standing numbly at the closed connecting door, before he lets out a long, exhausted sort of sigh and looks at his somewhat wet fingers, and purses his lips a little in thought - before turning to his bed, his mind reeling and now, once the door was shut, he finds his fingers trembling with a sort of anticipatory excitement he doesn't think he's had before. He's never experienced anything quite so - raunchy? Wanton? It's the kind of thing that gets written about in desperate filthy novellas peddled out to the horny masses, not the sort of thing that actually happens, but as he begins undoing his belt, all he can think about is how soft your lips feel - your body - your wetness - your eyes - all of it. 

It hits him when he sits on his bed and stares at the connecting door, wishing it had a fucking window in it, just how bent out of shape he is, because it feels like he needs your body the same way he needs air, and shoving down those offensively seductive fingers into his underwear, that had worked you so expertly only a few moments prior did nothing but make it all so much worse. In fact, he just feels like he's edging the moment he begins touching himself, which does nothing for his nerves, and makes him wonder just how much he'll even be able to last once he finally has you.

_A little backed up? _He looks miserably the hand which is now closed around his pulsing cock, and sees himself leaking with desperation over his knuckles much the same as he had when he'd slept beside you, but hadn't even tried to give himself any relief. _You have no idea how long it's been since I've even touched a woman I barely know what to do with you._

He squeezes his eyes shut, and sighs grimly, feeling his arm move in an almost reluctant sort of stroking motion.

_I suppose we'll have to practice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( A/N: Forgot who Dennis Aiblinger is? Don't worry I've got you https://attackontitan.fandom.com/wiki/Dennis_Aiblinger_(Anime) - I didn't really do OCs for the MPs, to be honest.  
> Boris Feulner is also a cutie. Tbf I thought the MPs were bereft of qt-pies but I was wroooooooong.
> 
> tbf kind of iff on the ending, wanted to write some lewd but it's not my strongest. Not to worry tho. It's all up from here - I just needed to update because I'm working on Sat and trying to cram it all in on sunday plus the palace visit would have made me die so splitting it into chonks so i can TRY and aim for a sunday update too but we'll see. Also, I dont really do euphemisms much. They feel stupid. Sorry? I write pure filth so just deal with it. This is Filth Lite. You ain't seen nothin yet. It'll get saucier and hopefully more IC feeling I just wanted to cross into what Erwin's actually feeling fee-fee wise? Like he's feeling some kind of way, but now he's having to contemplate it like "Hmmm"  
> "I def want to bone but do i also have a crush?" "why am i feeling some kind of way?" and then ofc, Nile, the bestie, the homie, he sees it after like 5min and is like "lol ur gaggng 4 it m8" and i really wanted to work him in so now ive done it i can cross him off the list a sec
> 
> next ch should cover the palace visit, some vazira contact, some plot tings even though this is lite af on plot, and the wonderful world of trying to figure out if you've caught or in the process of, catching feelings while navigating the wonderful world of being dummy thirsty. Yeah. shit. I dont miss being single. fuck that. lol. 
> 
> anyway i sleep, got work. peace.


	14. Queens

_Chapter Fourteen_

**Queens**

The following morning, Ryka is summoned to your room and tasked with helping you get ready for the day. For all of the man’s brutality, he has a hand for detail and more delicate sorts of things than one would expect.

“I could teach you how to do this my Dame,” Ryka murmurs in Vaziri, his fingers twisting deeply into your hair while you pull your braces up the tight muscles of your forearms.

“Ah, you know I’m awful at doing anything round the back of my head,” you snort, and let your subordinate work through your long tresses of hair. Embarrassingly, you couldn’t do much more than tie it up or brush it, but Ryka - and some of the other men, had sisters, aunts and female family they’d do it for, or had grown their own hair into warrior’s tails in the past, and would occasionally do it for you when asked. “I’m a lost cause dear, we know this,” you add, earning a scratchy chuckle from the red-eyed man.

It’s little moments like this, when you turn up awkwardly at the door and ask them to “Can one of you make my hair pretty, please?” that they’re reminded that however harsh you may get, you’re not perfect, and are equal parts in need of their support and cooperation as much as their respect and fear. There’s little tiny aspects of yourself that, despite how far you’ve come, and how much you can lord yourself over them, you can’t quite leave your vulnerabilities behind. Little things that you’d never been taught or were taught a little later than usual, left you in need of help sometimes. Occasionally it was reading, and sometimes it was things like this - and it serves as a reminder to your specialists that you’d left a lot of very basic things behind in order to rise up and dedicate every hour of your life to being a leader of men.

“Ah, there we go, nice, traditional Vaziri braids,” Ryka smiles and pulls his hands out of your hair, which had been meticulously combed out so the waves look neater than usual, and on the right side of your head, there are long, thin braids pulled taught from your scalp and cascade down alongside with the rest of your loose locks, which he’d teased up a little with his fingers.

“Thank you, Ryka,” he watches as you rise to full height, and press out your uniform with your hands. It seemed that the commander had been serious about making sure you had clothes that fit, and he isn’t quite sure how he’d done it - but your uniform had been cleaned of months of being lived in. In truth, it was Levi who’d gotten it to this state, but you can’t quite recall the last time all the golden buttons shone quite so brightly.

“Now go show them how we do it back home,” his red irises flicker over you appreciatively, before he rises up off your bed also, and you dismiss him.

_I fucking hate court._

There was always a sense of foreboding about royal court, and though you’d had your fair share of experience in Vaziri Court from having to deal with the Supremes, and on rare occasion, have audience with King Raja. It was an entirely drawn out affair that involved a lot of nicety and patient enduring of flouncing nobility who made it their business to play with their words and pull you into their twisted little games.

This sort of thing exhausted you, and tried your patience at the best of times, so when you get into a carriage with Sahtar - as all of the others have already gotten in, there’s a smatter of Survey Corps and MPs on horseback who catch sight of you, their eyes not leaving you for a moment. Levi is at the front of the convoy, so you don’t see him, but Boris Feulner is the one who opens the door for you. He’s rather impassive, but his eyes wander over you curiously, like he’s trying to register the image of you now, with the casual, brazen and unbuttoned little flirt with the visage you’re presenting now, and finds his mouth go drier at the sight.

“Screw your eyes back in soldier,” you say, with a flash of a smirk as the door closes behind you, unwilling to betray any of the slew of mixed emotions that were stewing around inside.

Sahtar is notably quiet, because he knows talking to you when you’re this sort of tense, mentally bracing yourself, is a quick way to having his head bitten off. It’s a silent carriage ride, aside from the ambient noise of the outside, and aching wooden wheels turning against cobblestone.

Upon arrival, it’s the Vice Legate who gets out first, and looks around to see the cluster of soldiers fanning out to their different posts. The Military Police are set up at certain points in order to provide relief to those directly guarding the Crown. They don’t appear to have any other regalia or difference in uniform to the MPs supporting the convoy, unlike the Royal Guard he’s used to back in Vaziri Court.

The supporting Survey Corps are corralling the rest of the men and will be taking them to the assembly seating for audience with the Crown. Commanders Nile, Pixis and Erwin, however, are all at the front of the Palace entryway, past a large, looming silver gate.

All three of them are dressed in their dark green military coats, giving airs of formality, and are waiting patiently. The Vice Legate holds the carriage door open to stop it swinging shut and you jump out abruptly, boots hitting the ground with a loud thud.

You hadn’t seen the commanders, as you’d loaded onto the convoy last, and began sauntering over. Naturally, you gravitate to the familiar head of blond hair, eyes roving casually over Erwin’s formal wear. It’s a simple, long green trench coat coat like the others, fitted with a belt around the waist and the Wings of Freedom emblazoned on the breast and arms.

_Mm. He fills that out nicely._ The broad shoulders and strong, built body raise a distracting, passing thought as you approach the three, Nile Dok’s eyebrow raising steadily as he takes in your appearance.

“Good morning, Legates,” Commander Nile offers, though he isn’t too familiar with you, any worries or concerns he had about how you’d present yourself at court at least physically, were utterly dashed.

“You scrub up decently, Dame,” it’s Commander Pixis who effortlessly speaks the unspoken words, causing you to glance up at the man with a small smile.

“Looking pretty sharp yourselves gentleman,” tossing some hair back with a too laid back sort of air, and pointedly not looking Erwin in the face, eyes not lingering too much on any of them in favour of looking ahead at the looming, impressive architecture of the palace.

Vaziri Court was equally grand, if not more gaudy, with pillars of gold - but the Eldian’s palace was filled with pristine white marble and rich red carpeting. It evokes an image of more classical refinement rather than the exuberant brightness of home. As beautiful as it is, however, it does feel incredibly sterile, and you simply hang back with Sahtar to allow for the commanders to walk you in.

“You’re clear on the order of business for today? You’re headed for a straight address with the Queen, we’ll be having a closed council, and then you’ll be brought in,” Pixis clarified - looking over at you.

“Crystal. I’ll assume they’ll be some corralling going on to herd us to the right place,” you reply wryly, seeming almost bored by the entire affair. To tell the truth, you’re always just ever so slightly out of your depth at court, and foreign court certainly didn’t feel any easier, but the best way to appear calm was to fake calm, the only betrayal being how you nervously adjusted your cuffs as you walked.

“Of course - your presence in the palace is heavily monitored, I doubt we’d lose you even if you tried to shake us,” Commander Nile states - in what was probably meant to be a reassuring tone, but comes off as an almost warning statement.

“I know you said you’re not a scholar, or schooled on being a diplomatic envoy, and I know that it doesn’t matter terribly in the grand scheme of it, but you look the part, Dame, and I’ll be inside with you,” - Erwin’s tone is quiet, but reassuring, he’s reigned himself in, for the most part, but the abject disdain for nobility and royal court and the fact you’d felt the need to make such an effort, might have reflected some worry or concern.

His words weren’t out of place, despite the professional distance the pair of you are trying to maintain, since the rapport is known at this point. You just roll your shoulders back with a tired click, causing the golden epaulettes that hung atop the shoulder padded gear along with the golden buttons that shone with a polished glow to shine more. True to his word, the Survey Corps commander did ensure you’d have clothes that fit for your visit to the palace, and as always, Levi had managed to get the dirt, blood and sweat-soaked uniform up to pristine standard. On your body, it looked even better, the uniform now a clean but muted shade of beige and brown, but figure hugging in the hips and musculature of your arms and back, and high collared to hide your neck, it’s every inch elegant and makes Pixis reconsider if, in fact, your rank is equivalent to their own, or perhaps just a bit higher. 

The ornateness of it, in fact, does make Erwin feel a little underdressed by comparison, you’re even wearing your Legate’s chain a little differently - _correctly -_ even, having the chains hang from epaulette to epaulette across your chest, lotus sitting neatly beneath where your collarbone would be. Down the chest of it, are several straps that close the jacket from left to right, each punctuated by golden buttons that match the trim of the epaulettes and the buttons stamped up into the high collar that swallows your neck whole. There’s also a layer of leathered bracers over the long sleeves that seem like they have a layer of metal packed tightly to your forearms that Erwin only barely notices. Your brown boots stretch high enough to that there isn’t much more going on in the trousers save for the long, golden trim line down into the boot, but there’s two layers of leather belts that previously housed holsters at your hips for crystal-esque sabres that were still confiscated and being analysed by the Engineer Corps, and grapples, and their lack of weight made you feel a little off-kilter.

“Mm. That’s good to know, I’ve little patience for all this pomp - it’s really not my sort of thing,” you said, not letting yourself linger on the man or his words much, opting to let them lead you and the Vice Legate inside. You pay no mind to the curious looks and the roving eyes, though Erwin subtly looks you over.

_Scrubbing up decently is an understatement. Lord above. Just look at her -_ he tempers his thoughts, because he doesn’t need his eyes wandering over to your backside, but it’s hard not to when he can see the power in the way that you walk, and the flex of your muscles, it’s all too figure-hugging in the right places and what was just a passing intrusive lechery was a lot louder and pronounced following the events of last night. Thankfully, you weren’t giving him much attention, but all it did was make him a little more yearning - though it appears nobody has noticed, he does remind himself, briefly, to get a grip and focus on the task at hand.

“Remind me, why were you selected to act as an ambassadorial dignitary?” Sahtar deadpans in an effort to lighten the mood.

“-because they couldn’t find some other idiot,” you snorted, but smiled good naturedly, recognising the idle conversation for what it was, while the other men mutely listened and led them to the throne room.

The cluster of men stop short of a pair of impossibly tall, large, oak doors that are heavily embossed with carvings and intricate patterns. Two Military Police who are stationed at the door salute on sight, eyes going impossibly wide when they fall on the first foreigners they’d ever seen in their lives. That, and it seems to be a general effect of yours and Sahtar’s overall presence.

Sahtar, if only for the fact he’s built like a walking house, utterly imposing even without meaning to be. For all of the people present, even the supporting special operations squad, none of them had seen you present so pristinely as a Vaziri commander until now, and not all of them had been present for your initial recovery to the walls, which was the first and last time you’d been last seen in your armour.

As soon as the doors swing open, you’re greeted by a wide, expansive space where the red carpet rolled directly up to a classically regal throne, where a young woman sits upon it, a large, matching red cloak draping down over her shoulders and pooling to the floor.

There are lines of people inside, a healthy distance from the throne, most of them standing to attention, but a few clustered away in corners - some of whom you recognise as Yeager and Kirstein, who seem utterly unbothered by being in the presence of royalty. Then again, this Queen apparently served with them, so it shouldn’t surprise you so much.

You can feel the Commanders readying to walk you to the front and present you, you catch the eye of the Queen, and feel your feet moving before you do. The men bristle a bit with surprise, quickening pace to meet you - the Vice Legate keeping to Nile’s stride. 

Erwin feels his heart jump for a moment, watching you cross the room with such a familiar but wholly unfitting bravado, oozing a sort of every pore of your being. For someone nervously adjusting their cuffs the whole way there, you don’t give off how you might actually be feeling. He knows you’ve a distaste for this entire affair, but seeing the candle chandeliers catching all of the polished buttons and chains that shone brightly against the mute, brown-beige uniform and filling your eyes with a matching shade of melting gold, he cannot help but feel a little silly for being vaguely concerned with how you might present at court, Nile Dok more so.

The Queen rises up from her throne, and stands at a very short stature, but easily carries the heaving crown atop her head with a kind of grace you’d often envied in others in the past. The first thing that sticks out is the crisp, white, silken dress that adorns her body, her eyes a unique shade of blue and hair tied in an intricate garland of braids around her head.

_Blonde. Cute. That checks her boxes,_ Sahtar realises with an inward groan, realising now that your forward b-line to the young royal was probably encouraged by that. When you’re a few steps away from Queen Historia, it’s now that just how much you tower over her fully sinks in, and she’s tilting her head up a little to look you in the face.

The men are standing shoulder to shoulder a little bit behind, with Sahtar now lumbering up but standing respectfully behind you, as you’re just a little bit closer than perhaps you should be, but brazenly unbothered by the intrusion in the royal’s space. For a moment, the commanders collectively wonder, or worry, if you’ll observe their customs at all.

For a moment, it feels like you, and Queen Historia are silently measuring the other with your eyes. Then - with a slowness, you buckle down on one knee, head still towering up to her torso with a confident little smirk fixed to your face.

“Your Grace,” finally leaves your throat, and comes out as a low drawl. The Queen regards you with an unreadable face, like she’s studying all of the things that make you different, before she slowly extends her arm, and you take it with a swiftness that is not custom.

The many sets of eyes in the room fall on this interaction, and Queen Historia looks at you curiously when you raise her hand to your lip, and meet her gaze evenly.

“Rumours of your beauty were not exaggerated,” _of course that’s what you open with,_ Sahtar groans internally, while you place the chaste kiss to her knuckles with a more leisurely pace than perhaps appropriate.

It seems, however, that Queen Historia was a little…. amused? There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when you say that, and gently let go of her hand.

_Cocky for someone whose lost so much to get here,_ the Queen cannot help but think, because everything right down to the way you’d sauntered in oozed of a casual lack of reverence for courtly manner and just your drawling tones gave off an air of disregard, as though you’re humouring their nobility and royal customs.

It would be perhaps grating, or irritating in its arrogance if Historia herself wasn’t regularly put out and often times bored to exhaustion by it.

“And you must be Dame Legate Senset,” her voice is soft, but confident, and carries easily over to the others as she then addresses Sahtar with similar unreadable frankness that does not address your somewhat brazen introduction.

“Vice Legate Sahtar - I’ve been hearing a lot about you two,” she moves her hands behind her back, and allows you to rise, your silhouette instantly towering over her once more.

“Good things, I hope,” if there was any anxiety about making conversation with the Queen, you didn’t show it, though you’re keenly aware that you’re not just in the company of soldiers, but that there are some nobility present, standing further to the side, observing with muted wonder.

“You’ve been making waves, mingling with our military,” she says, though her tone doesn’t betray if this is a good or bad thing, from the sparkle in her eyes, you’d wager this was a positive. “After our Survey Corps rescued you from beyond the Walls,”

“Mm. We’d be a bloody smear in the woods without ‘em,” you said with a passive flick of some of your hair over your shoulder. “-tired horses, pounced supply cart, low shell count- and a _lot_ of dead men,” you add with a light grimace. “Bad odds, Your Grace, even for warriors as good as mine.”

Even with the tremendous loss of life, you spoke with effortless pride when referring to your remaining men.

“It almost makes you wonder why you’d go to such lengths in the first place. You’ve had a long time to get into contact with us, why now?” Queen Historia jumps right to the point, and you can appreciate that, and surely, she’s had all of the information briefs required but, she wants to hear it for herself - she wants to understand and have a reason to share the trust her former squadron had with these foreigners.

“Because of you, Your Grace,” this answer, however, seemed to get HIstoria by surprise. With far more confidence than you’d had when standing outside, fidgeting with your sleeves, you lean on your back foot, hands landing on your hips in such a way that you exuded a striking sort of boldness.

“For hundreds of years the beastly things you’ve had sleeping in your walls has kept the world at bay, but in these recent decades it is certainly not for lack of trying,” you snort “ - at least, our nation Vazira has periodically sent missives by messenger bird and every time they’ve never made it back, we eventually stopped trying, though some say they were shot from the skies,”.

“The old Kings made it perfectly clear that they had no desire to make contact, even while everything changed around you,” there is no mincing of words, and you’re quick to get to the heart of things, this royal may be a figurehead, but their opinion has weight, and how this dialogue would spell how cooperative the alliance would be.

“Our informant in Marley had caught wind of your little bloodless coup, they have a lot of intelligence considering how walled off you all are,” you added “-I’d be concerned if I were you. Our nation is on the back foot, however, and we’re at the point of having to pull our support colonies from the other countries within the Middle Eastern Allied Forces because one by one they’re bending the knee to the bastards who would have you eating your countrymen and knocking down your walls,” - unable to keep your callous cursing from your speech, it spills out, but no one rebukes you - someone of your position as a foreign envoy, they wouldn’t dare, but it certainly stills the air.

It does, however, give Historia some pause.

“As it is now, Your Grace, Vazira’s conscription rate gives us the largest standing army in the world, but once our larger neighbours buckle - and believe me, they are, we will have no allies. Just as before.”

“Before?” this, Historia pounces on, she may just be a figurehead, but everything ran through the small council has to have her final approval, as most things required the royal seal, and in a technical sense, she did still have the power of final veto on any and all decisions concerning Paradis, it is not something she invokes.

“Yes, before,” posture shifting to something a bit more confident, and less stifled by the heavy and formal atmosphere of the throne room. “Our nation is located at a strategic disadvantage, and the sun shines far hotter there, the ground can burn your feet for instance. Now that in mind, a few years back we had the displeasure of suffering through the Long Drought,” - a visible grimace on your face - and a sharp inhale from Sahtar does draw the room to silence.

Erwin can feel the peripheral glances of Pixis and Nile, but in truth, he has no idea what you’re referring to, and as badly as he wants you to himself, he is once again forced to reckon with just how little he knows. Every time he thinks he has the vaguest idea of the scope of your history and sacrifices, there’s something else thrown into the mix.

“It didn’t rain all year, it was the longest summer,” a twist of bitterness oozing into your braggadocios tone.

“Our harvest season failed, everything became reliant on whatever we could import - I understand that your people are familiar with the perils of famine?” you had spoken to the soldiers, after all, and it was not surprising to learn that some of them had joined the forces purely for access to regular rations, after remembering and having lived through real food shortage.

At your words, Queen Historia’s face visibly darkens - she had been in the privileged few not to suffer too hard, but she remembered the agony of her countrymen all too well. The culling that had followed was a dark blot in Paradis’s history, and not one Historia ever wanted to repeat.

“Yes,” Queen Historia says softly, a visible tinge of sadness on her gentle features, and she is quick to catch on to the direction you’re headed. “So your crops died and you had a rainless year in your hot climate?” - she even sounds, bless her, almost a little aghast on your behalf. Sahtar looks visibly pained, and is looking at his feet to try and hide the expression on his features.

“Yes Your Grace, but it got worse. Around this time our neighbours, prior to our Alliance, began buckling under pressure from the Marley Empire. They began cutting off exports to Vazira because we refused to bend the knee,” you sucked in a gust of air sharply - this always did sit painfully in your gut, as much as Umman had, perhaps more so, as he’d been long dead at this point, and you suffered this in your tenure as a Brigadier.

“Briefly, every branch of the army, including half of the combative front line had become emergency relief aid just to bring fresh water to the mainland, which they would also try to sabotage. Eventually, with our army being as large as it is, our government had to choose between feeding the men, or feeding the civilians. Eventually, they started to look at us with hatred, and could you blame them? Meagre sums of water in a dying nation over a war that men with too much pride are stubborn to yield to being handed out by scarcely fed soldiers who still eat more than you. I saw many destroyed villages. People tearing each other apart over the famine, selling their offspring and slaughtering their kinsman for a slice of bread. Watching waxy skinned children dying and rotting on their knees and having to tell them how much water they get to live on…” you trailed off, a visible look of agony flashing on your face as your smile dropped completely.

“-It is something I will carry with me until I die. I might even die angry, Your Grace, because those - “ you move your arm to gesture to the large, open window on your left, one of many that adorned the walls from ceiling to floor almost. “ - _ **bastards**_ across the ocean are prepared to do anything and everything to get Vazira to surrender, and to have our armies. Rightly or wrongly, our King would sooner have us collectively keel over and die than ever have a Marley flag on his land. The Allied Forces are giving in under pressure, even after everything they’ve done. We refuse to fall in line. Our King would rather throw any number of men at your country and take the chance with your kind than our own neighbours, because they have proven weak,” you spat, disgust in every inch of your tone that’s so vitriolic that Sahtar can feel goosebumps under his armour.

“You want our support,” Queen Historia said simply “- you want our men?” she raises a brow at you, and patiently waits for your answer.

“My Queen,” your tone twisting into something appropriately more controlled, though the shift from Your Grace is still technically respectful, the way it falls out of your lips feels just a little more direct, and perhaps even flirtatious, than it should.

“We want _your people._ We want to spread out far and wide, every country needs a population of Eldians and to protect them from this ghastly fucking extinction attempt,” - at your words, you can sense a few people in the room bristling, and not at your choice of inappropriate language.

“- We want to stop titans being used in war, and the only way that stops without all of you dying, is if everybody has titans,” you say with a little shrug, which seems that much more emphasised with the heavy shoulder pads and epaulettes glistening gold under the light.

“So we’re willing to give you weapons, men and a target, - and they sent me to make sure it gets done. Make no mistake, this is a purging. These titans that come knocking at your door do it with purpose,” you purr out the last word. “ - and whether you’re devil’s blood or a gift of the Gods, I really do not give two shits one way or the other. All I care about, Your Grace, is spilling Marley blood - and when they next come knocking - and believe me, **_**they will!**_** ” your voice raising just a little, and garnering a smothered shiver from Nile Dok - because the confidence with which you said it was so foreboding and certain, casting a grim future for the country.

Queen HIstoria watches the way that melted gold stare smoulders into something fiery and disconcerting, and had she not practised her stoicism so much since her ascent, she would have visibly balked, and indeed, some colour has left her naturally flush, sweet features.

“- We will slaughter them all. Each as they come, and when we can get to the men behind this bastard Empire - I will personally have them crucified,” your purr returns, but it edges into something dangerous and unsettling, something that makes the ridiculously ornate and spacious throne room seem so small that it’s almost suffocating under the weight of your ruthlessness. “ - across Wall Maria so that their titans can pick the flesh from their bones,”.

_She's bloodthirsty,_ is all Nile can think, a sense of awe intermingled with mute wonder and no small amount of horror washing over his facade of indifference, and he wonders, briefly, if Pixis thinks the same.

_She's amazing -_ and while Erwin has no particular yearn for excessive violence to speak of, after appreciating the horror of the Long Drought - and knowing that, for however bad the famine was in his own country, they at least had _water -_ he cannot help but feel your anger and vitriol be justified, though he can feel the unyielding power behind your threat, and the true rage that simmered in the words _I might die angry_ echoed in the man's bones, yet, he feels his mouth twitching into a content smile before he can stop it. The reason they had the Vazirans is because of _his_ regiment, and _his_ special operations squad, and indeed, a certain incomprehensible part of him finds himself buckling to the force of that anger and power. It's reassuring as it is horrifying, and strangely appealing, because however bad the monsters that Marley send are, it seems that you're more than willing to rise to the occasion and be worse, if only to tear through them wholesale.

_And that's just what we need -_ he thinks, ignoring Nile's brief glance at him, knowing the man has caught his small smile for what it was - had they not been in the throne room, Nile might have shaken his head at the man, and wondered how he's not completely and utterly terrified of the brutal little creature in front of them.

Queen Historia is quiet for a long moment, and so is much of the room - even the quiet, curious whispers had gone to an abrupt halt, and you ignore the burning wide-eyed sets of stares that are stuck to your back.

You weren’t good at this sort of thing, and were quick to shed your manners when it came to making a point - it could have gone horribly, but instead, you see the small Queen slowly walk a step forward, and offer a hand out to you - this time, to shake.

“I’m glad you’re on our side,” is the only thing she can think of to say - something about your careless bluntness was refreshing at least, and reminded her fondly of Ymir, along with the towering strength, but the brutality is something she is so unfamiliar with that she’s glad as she is vaguely frightened by it all, and cannot help but feel a wave of security when your calloused hand clasps hers. She notices the discoloured knuckles, scars, and bruising, but doesn’t comment.

“And that after all the men you lost, and the horrible things you’ve gone through, that you still came to help us. It sounds like we don’t have a lot of friends, and so, as Queen of this land, I’m - honoured, to receive the nation of Vazira as our first ally in this war,” her words were carefully chosen, and you can see the gears turning behind her eyes, but you feel a flood of relief. Figurehead Queen or not, this meeting mattered, and all direct liaison with King Raja would come from her royal seal, and perhaps even with some of her words as well as the small council.

“The pleasure is all mine,” your lips curved into a relieved, but rather smugly satisfied smirk “ - you have merely to point me, Your Grace, and I’ll shoot without question,” - this makes Queen Historia raise a brow - a brief flush on her face - because for a pretty blonde, you might just do anything.

_Oh, now that definitely reminds me of Ymir. I wonder what she’d think of this girl. I bet they’d either get on like a house on fire, or hate each other for being so similar._

Despite herself, Queen Historia cannot help but like you, brazenness and all, and cannot help but feel as though she’s being just a little flirted with.

“I’ll bare that in mind, my Dame,” her lips twitching into the faint ghost of a smile - and just like that, the meeting with the Queen is over.

It was the Queen’s council that would determine where the cards will fall.

* * *

The way Premier Zachary looks at you now has changed, what was previously clinical indifference is a look of quiet appreciation. When he’s leaning back slightly in the far end of the long, white, ornate security counsel table, he cannot help but meet your eyes, not quite smiling, but something glinting in his eye.

“Crucifixion? Well, aren’t you a treat,” - it’s not something anybody expected the Premier to say, and Nile wonders, briefly, if the world had gone mad - before remembering this is the same man who has a noble chained up and being force fed a humiliating diet of his own bodily waste.

"That's one word for it," someone mutters - though you're not sure who, it seems to come from the direction of the far end of the table, away from you, getting a cold response from yourself.

“Don't look at me like I'm any more savage than I have to be, those bastards starved out our entire nation during the Long Drought, don't tell me I crossed thousands of miles of land and ocean just to sit at a table full of men quibbling, moaning, _trifling_ men who can't stomach war with humanity because you're caught up fighting your own kind,” you said firmly, one leg over the other and Sahtar next to you - your patience wearing thin after around the forty minute mark of pointless bickering. This does, actually, gain a faint twitch of a smile from Premier Zachary, who does his duties with a practised stoicism and tiredness that lacks any grandiosity or flourish, so he welcomes the bluntness with more openness than one might associate with him.

“Example setting is important - and with respect, you’re titan killers, not people killers. International warfare is a lost art here, and that is where we will assist - as much as you’ll let us,” Sahtar speaks, and the group falls into animated chatter - you pointedly barely look at Erwin, whose sat across from you, chin steeped on his interlocked fingers with an openly appraising expression. The Vice Legate then puts a calming hand on your shoulder - as he is much more patient, and looks over at Commander Pixis, and the others. Present at the council are Commander Nile, Commander Erwin, Commander Pixis with Premier Zachary at the head. There is also the Crown Treasurer, Theophilus Rosenblatt - a hangover from the old dynasty who is kept as he’s rather good in his role as a bean counter, and several noble family representatives who contribute heavily to the Crown’s funds and maintain roles within Merchants Guilds and the Miner’s Party - everyone who could be affected by the Vaziri presence and what the changing surface of the battlefront means was present. There's even an appointed press secretary, who isn't usually privy to these meetings, who is there and unable to tear their eyes from either you or Sahtar, and can be seen scribbling furiously, pausing intermittently to slide his notes over to Nile, who nods and passes them back without comment.

“You’ve already done a great amount to assist with the weapon you’ve brought - Commander Erwin, if you could please present your expense report? I believe Treasurer Rosenblatt would like to justify the 70% expenditure on the Miner’s Party in aid of this Anti-Titan artillery,” said Premier Zachary coolly.

And God, Commander Erwin delivered.

“Of course, Premier,” he gets - no joke, a _stack_ of papers, far thicker than you’d seen them, as the report had expanded some. He slides it across to Rosenblatt, as he knows it cover to cover, and begins to effortlessly explain it while the man flicks through, eyes widening at each number he sees.

“We’re looking at a perimeter cover along both walls starting at our weakest points from previous invasions - considering we will need to up our munitions production by such a large percentile, we need the Crown to fund more saltpeter mines for the Miner’s Party,” - and as Rosenblatt because skewering the numbers - because really - they’re just so large - the Survey Corps commander merely references different pages by number, knowing their contents by heart.

_Holy shit, that’s detailed -_ you mused, a little impressed. Erwin had numbers, he had estimates, he had even had the Engineer Corps provide average reload times, ammunition round weight, cool down time and how much repeat rapid fire could be done in a single sitting without pause - detailed things you couldn’t know the answer too that were usually the purview of your deceased Quartermaster.

“This is three times the amount we cleared for cannon development and what the Engineer Corps demanded for the titan restraints,” Rosenblatt blanched visibly “-maybe more.”

“You can’t worry about gold if you’re too dead to use it little man,” - the sound of your hand impatiently slapping the table echoed, and your now infamous bluntness silenced the table for a moment, and, amusingly, Rosenblatt even flinched a bit.

_Mm. There it is,_ Erwin muses, fighting the urge to smirk a little bit, bringing his hands up a little closer to his mouth to smother it subtly _the Dame Legate I got to see in the tavern. I have to say, I don't mind it._

“ - once you secure the route from your walls to the place we’re docked at, King Raja is more than willing to expend what we can in natural resource to make up for your expenditure. If my word isn’t enough, you can wait until it comes with a royal wax seal, but be aware we’re throwing fucking _every_ ounce of faith we have left in you, because you took out the Female Titan - a feat no one has managed in our known history of warfare with Marley. We will throw any amount of resources, money, blood and tears to your miserable little island because our King would rather we die than surrender,” you said sharply. 

For Erwin, and Nile - but more so the former, it was a little disconcerting at first to see the complete absence of your typical happy-go-lucky sort of casualness, and as entertainingly enticing as it had been in the tavern, he didn't quite expect your temper to be as short as it is, or for you to be quite so relentless in your bluntness. It seemed the casual Dame Legate had been left at the door, and the braggadocio and flirtatious claims you'd laid to Queen Historia were about as nice as you were going to get, as you were very noticeably and quickly displaying impatience for the entire process.

That isn't to say Erwin didn't find it refreshing just how much you were cutting the fat with the small council, but it was jarring and certainly not advised. He'd rather expected you to politely nod and go along with everything the way you had insinuated you would after your etiquette lesson, but in practice - you had other ideas.

The Crown Treasurer actually shrinks a little under the intensity of your gaze, even when you’re so far from him at the round table.

“We died to make settlements and rest stops up until we had our supply cart destroyed that dot the titan fields up until your Giant Tree Forest - there’s even a ruined fort we repurposed, if you can get our artillery duplicated and functional, we can get more supplies to you. But do not think for a second I’m going to sit here and listen to you quibble over coins when I left with an ambassadorial party of twenty five and got to Wall Rose with _six!_ ” you bite out, impatience more and more evident as time passes.

Rosenblatt visibly cringes, and in that moment, the pen in his hand quickly scrawls something, tinges of sweat on his fingers visibly showing up in nervous fingermarks against the table that betray how utterly unused he is to being so harshly addressed, especially coming from such an intimidating foreign power - Erwin might have pitied the man if he hadn't been the source of so many budget cuts for the Corps.

“You have approval from the Crown treasury, but it’s conditional on the efficacy of your results,” he says, trying to keep his tone even.

“I’ll find you a nice, pretty Marleyian head, shall I?” you sneer a little, and Rosenblatt doesn’t reply, but looks away, fingers nervously toying and tugging at one of his sleeves.

Premier Zachary’s smile merely widens, and it’s Nile who looks at Erwin openly now, brow raised to hairline.

_Really, Erwin? This one?_ \- Commander Nile wonders just how many times he's going to have that thought, but seems a little amused rather than horrified, having gotten just a little bit more braced for the sort of things that came tumbling from your lips carelessly, especially after the promise and foreboding threat you had promised to their Queen, with all the certainty you could muster, even bringing up a method of death via crucifixition which had only ever been mentioned in their history books but to this date, as far as they could remember, never practiced.

“I’ve never seen the Survey Corps get an expense report approved in one of these meetings without it going through the council twice. It seems we’re in an era of firsts,” Nile says.

_Firsts for you too, huh, Erwin? At least try not to look completely glazed over when she speaks,_ he thinks, though in truth, it’s only really obvious to Nile, who knows him so personally.

“My Dame doesn’t like to waste time,” Sahtar says with a small shrug “ - I suppose the next order of business is the integration policy packet?” - he helpfully steers the conversation away from Rosenblatt, and the tension seems to ease.

_Well, well, well - if only all of these blasted meetings would go this quickly,_ Premier Zachary mused, before half tuning out some of the chatter. The public relations standpoint was more the business of some of the guildmasters present, many quite cautiously excited at the idea of foreign export, even if it was some ways away.

One person present is from the print press, and has a statement put together, and mentions something about a press junket, and it’s now that you actually pay attention when your name is put in conjuncture with Erwin’s.

“It’ll be good for the pair of you to be seen together,” it seemed that, in an irony to end all ironies, the effort to stay away might have been completely unnecessary, but, it was a wise precaution - the last thing he needed was anybody bringing up to Rosenblatt that his detailed report might be unfairly weighted in Vaziri favour.

“We can keep your men with the Survey Corps, and have something set up within Wall Sina or Wall Rose as a sort of - ambassadorial base,” - it’s Pixis who suggests this, and you cannot help but give the man a wary look.

“The press packet will also cover Vaziri intervention positively, but the people will need to see it in action before they believe - but you two together would go some way in fuelling public perception to Vaziri favour. They need to see you all intermixing, but importantly, that commanders and - ah, Legates - respectively, appreciate the other’s position,” - Erwin can _feel_ the wave of curiosity and disbelief oozing off of Nile next to him, and in truth, he didn’t really expect Pixis to come out with that - but it’s a fairly presented point.

It just feels a little childish, considering he’d gently jibed at your closeness before, but right now - he presents it in a pragmatic sense, as it seems to be making sense at least.

“I can see your point, Commander Pixis - and with all due respect, you look different, you sound different, and you arrive to our walls armed to the teeth, the public needs all the softening towards you they can get, as they’ll surely have their own opinions. Seeing is believing as they say,” - the press secretary, Horst Holtzmann speaks.

“Our armies have been training together,” Sahtar offers, and it’s now - now that Erwin speaks, and throws everyone for a loop.

“There’s been a mutual exchange of training techniques, and I’ve been meaning to discuss adding Vaziri styles to our armies anti-personnel curriculum with the Dame, as likewise her and her specialists have been training on ODM gear,” he turns to you, and has the nerve to smirk.

_He’s never once brought this up, what the Hell is he playing at?_

“That’s good,” Holtzmann scribbles something frantically in his notes “- that's the sort of thing that might get the public feeling warm fuzzies, especially now that the scouts are finally in a good light, if we run this alongside the expedition to Shiganshina - without a date of course, - we might even have a welcome parade if we can drum up enough excitement,” - he strategically offers to leave out dates and specifics, which is good as they aren't set yet, but you cannot help but look at the man like he'd grown another head.

You almost choke at his words - a fucking parade? Really?

“Most of my men are dead and you want a parade?” you cannot help but state, your tone unforgiving, only for Holtzmann to hold up his hands in a peaceful gesture of surrender.

“Just spitballing Comman-- er, Dame,” he says sheepishly, only for Rosenblatt to turn to him.

“And just who, pray tell, will be funding such an extravagance?” he bites, and at this, you slam your hands back down on the table, this time, so that you can rise fully out of your chair, shrugging off Sahtar’s calming hand with a gruff jerk.

“Tell ya what, I can play nice as long as you need me too. I can smile and wave, I’ll even sit my fat pretty ass on a float if you need me to, but for the love of the Gods do hurry the Hell up and decide what you’re doing, and someone come and get me when ya know yer arse from ya elbows,” your tone is brisk, and short - and considering this meeting was stretching to its third hour, Sahtar is frankly surprised you lasted that long, and doesn’t stop you as you rise to full height and turn to leave.

“I’ve got you covered,” Sahtar waves her off, and doesn’t seem to mind the rudeness, or brazenness, and does his best to smooth it with the new allies. As standard practice, nobody simply left these meetings before they ended, they were usually deemed too important, but it had been made apparent to everybody present that, the Lord or in this case, Dame Legate in question answer only to two forces on this world - their Supremes, and the King themselves, and with that in mind, many of them weren't quite sure if their own ranks were quite equivocal to their foreign aid. That in mind, nobody stops or even attempts to prevent your departure, and Sahtar seems entirely unphased by it, ignoring the somewhat aghast expression of some of the nobility present. “ - Sorry ‘bout that one, she’s a lit cannon fuse from time to time. The Dame means well but understand that as Legates, the only ones we’ve ever had to answer to since getting to these ranks, is our Supremes, and our King, She’s ah - well - it’s been a while since we’ve had to run something for approval with so many people,” he says, and apologises as best he can without slighting the Dame Legate, who leaves the room, undeterred and not stopped.

“We make a report, it gets submitted, shit happens,” Sahtar said with a small, somewhat put-out smile. “ - and that’s as far as she gets with it, I’m one for finer details, so - “ he pulls out a copy of the press packet he asks for, and does his best not to naturally intimidate the press secretary, or Rosenblatt for that matter.

“Lets start from the top shall we, gentleman?"

* * *

The amount of cursing and general quickness of the court meetings were both entirely unheard of, but as you began to march through the palace walls with very little patience, and worried MPs trailing not too far behind, you cannot help but wonder again, why so much had to be steeped on public opinion. In a twist, though, Pixis of all people had been the one to suggest that public mixing and revealing to the civilians that the Vaziri had already been accepted by the army, even after he'd almost levied it as a criticism that you and Commander Erwin were close.

But now, you wonder, was that a criticism, or just an observation?

You take a seat in the palace gardens, a marble bench perched neatly on manicured grass and let out a long, drawn out sigh.

_You two seem close._

Huh, yeah, because you were. What was even going on with that? Certainly there's something happening - the man is easy on the eyes, he kisses like something out of what you imagined dotted the pages of romance novels if only you were of a more literate ilk. You moved your fingers up to beneath your ear, and traced them along your jaw up to your lip, and remembered the sensation of your back hitting the wall, coupled with the defeated moan into his mouth. You weren't sure how you were able to keep your eyes off of him, and of course, he had to sit directly across from you. 

_I need a whore, I'm far too bent out of shape over this handsome devil,_ you think, as you'd thought more than once, only for your stomach to flip a little as you recalled the sultry plea from the aroused commander the night prior.

_I'm just not very good at sharing_ - _so you'll just have to keep yourself warm for me for a while -_ why was that so damned hot?

This is becoming a bit of a mess, perhaps not in a formal way, as the pair of you had passively worried over - as it seems this might just play favourably, but intermixing and fraternisation weren't the same thing, but now, there was far less reason to look publicly stiff and not quite as close as you are. He had given himself to you utterly and didn't push it much when you'd come into his room that night, needing the comfort of another body - perhaps that had done something a little more than make you acknowledge his sexual attraction, because he seems to want you to himself.

_Why am I so okay with that? Has it really been so long? A year ago I might have laughed in his face, or asked to bring a third or fourth person in that he might be alright with. What's changed?_ You bite down on your lip, knees rubbing against each other as you shift about on the bench, trying to keep your thoughts relatively clean. 

_He's probably not impressed with my short fuse - but - fuck - why do I care? When the flying fuck has a man's opinion mattered so much?_ You're downright irritated at yourself, to be honest, and don't react when its time to depart for the carriages - as it seems Sahtar took care of the majority of the meeting, it would be time to head back to the secure point in Wall Sina. You're about ready to get back to your old carriage, too, but it's Sahtar who stops you, and thumbs to one further at the front, and gives you a little smile.

"Commander's Pixis and Dok are parting from us for the time being, and in light of the meeting, it might be wise to go and join Erwin," 

You give Sahtar an unimpressed look.

"Don't think I can't see through your transparent attempt at getting a carriage to yourself so you can stretch," you snort, before shaking your head with a small smile, trying to cover up the slew of emotions in your gut. " - but you deserve it for sitting through the rest of that shit," you shrug.

"I'll give you the notes later," the Vice Legate promises " - you were here for the important things, anyway," - which earns a derisive snort from yourself. Sahtar then briefly considers saying something, his mouth opens as though he just might, and then closes shut a few times. There is something weighing on his mind, clearly, but he doesn't seem to know how to phrase it, and you're of short patience, so just look at him oddly. Eventually, he just sighs and shakes his head - thinking the better of it.

"Find me in your own time," he says, and then turns to his carriage, letting out a short sigh.

Not dwelling on the behaviour, and putting it down to subjecting him to the long meeting and reverting him to his customary role of apologising for bluntness and rude airs, you make your way down to Erwin's carriage, and swing the door open, to find the man sitting there - unaccompanied, one leg crossed over the other beneath his green formal coat. He doesn't look up immediately, seeming lost in his own thoughts - until you hop in, awkwardly stooped so as not to hit your head on the low ceiling before you take a seat directly next to him rather than opposite. It might be easier to be around him like this - rather than fighting the urge to stare across from him, even if this is so much closer.

"My Dame," he smiles pleasantly at you as one of the MPs close the carriage door, encasing the pair of you in a comfortable dim light through the bright white curtains that allow light to pour through the small space. 

You stare at him briefly, before turning your head to look in front of you aimlessly - smoothing over your expression to a casual one, keeping an ear out to the humdrum of noise outside in case somebody called either of you, or opened the door before everyone mounted and got ready to head back to the secure point.

"My Commander," you reply, trying not to feel strange about hearing the man use your title with such familiarity, since it had been done at court so much today - it really shouldn't bother you so. In fact, you're certain the commander must have called you appropriately as _my Dame_ at least once, especially since despite its military rank, it doubled as a nobility reference that elevated one beyond the status of _My Lady,_ but far below _My Queen, Your Grace_ or _Master -_ which was designated solely for those who had become Supremes, and was used as a term of reverence by all in the serving ranks.

There's something inescapably different and intimate about your thoughtless reply though, and you realise it the moment it casually left your lips - as it caused Erwin's to twitch with the faintest sign of amusement.

In truth, you were just being a bit petulant, as if to point out how strange it is for him to call you _My Dame_ when you're certain he hadn't before, but all he does is glance at you when you reply with that, and smirk a little - far too assuredly for your liking.

"Well, that I like the sound of," he doesn't even think about his reply any more than you do, and has no idea what that does to your stomach as you feel a knot forming. Only a short moment ago you'd been ruminating on a bench about this man, rather than thinking about the alliance, and had let yourself moon over his simple actions as though you hadn't done far raunchier things in your time - making you feel somewhat silly, and now this? Feeling strange over being referred to by your own title?

It's the _my_ part - it's correct, but it still has you feeling some sort of way - and it certainly isn't logical.

And just like that, he switches back effortlessly - as though your mind wasn't thrown for a loop by how much easier the man's unexpected flirtations were coming out. 

"You were missed at the meeting, but I have to thank you for making such short work of it," he says with an easy smile that tells you he isn't actually put off by how you had presented at court - which you found to be something of a miracle. You had even tried to lessen your harshness at first, but it was rather difficult when trying to explain to such an innocent peoples the true horrors that were across the ocean that any pretense of politeness had quickly dropped, and you had fully expected a lecture on the matter, at least some polite rebuking. 

"They do tend to go on," Erwin adds, and it's now that you can see amusement in his eyes.

Which, considering he isn't looking at you the way you were certain Nile Dok was, you'd take as a win - as you were certain your bloodthirsty proclamations had unsettled at least a few, as you'd noticed that Feulner wasn't quite looking at you as much as he was before, and the MPs were giving you a decent berth considering their job was to watch and trail after you.

"I'm sorry about my short temper," you say, exhaling slowly and trying to keep your mind focused - you were _not_ fawning over this confusing mess you were in, you told yourself - you're just friends with the commander, and he's easy to talk to. You like how he looks at you. He happens to be handsome, and indifferent to letting you into his bed when you need to drown out the noise of your own head. He happens to find you as appealing as you find him. 

_We're friends who kiss..?_

Right. Quantified. Simple - this actually helps you relax a little, and compartmentalise a bit better. He's not one of your bedwarmers, and he's certainly not just a friend - nor is he in the same, unsexualised group you would put your litter of subordinates into. Friends with benefits. Simple.

"I did try to stick it out, I truly did, but I can only stand people meandering around the same points for so long before I start to lose my wits," you confessed "-I wasn't a good choice for this. I'm a frontliner, not a politician, and I'm aware my position demands both, but I was rather foisted into it and just expected to learn my way through it," - which, actually sounds like a confession, or at least, a small window of vulnerability which casts Erwin's mind back to a few nights prior, when you had asked for him to stay in bed with you. 

"I wouldn't say you need to apologise for merely stating your truth, my Dame - in fact, the speed in which you got Rosenblatt to agree to anything makes me think I should take you to these meetings more often," he adds, small smile returning as the carriage finally begins to move, drowning the space in ambient chatter and loud clattering horse hooves - it almost sounds like he's even teasing a bit, a light banter in the air which, to be honest, you're also not used to. It's usually terribly one-sided as the man was stoic to a fault, but he seems to be opening up, at least a little.

"I think I frightened the poor man," you grimace, running a finger through some of your hair out of what was becoming a more noticeably nervous habit around the commander " - I don't intend to be as rude as I am, but my impatience really is the worst,".

"Considering he's historically been the source of most of the Survey Corps budget cuts, I can't say I'm particularly offended," is the tame reply you get from the man, earning a surprised laugh.

_So, the calm commander can hold a petty grudge. He's more human than he lets on._

_Most of us are._

"Oh," you reply awkwardly for a moment, before clearing your throat a bit - trying to reclaim your practised, flirtatious nature - as it seems the tables have turned and floundering for something to say when the tension between you is so unspoken yet so thick is just not how you cope with this sort of thing. Life is too short, and you're coarse to the point of abrupt - but if what happened in his office had been any kind of clue, this was the sort of thing that worked, right? You turn to look at him, sat directly next to him, he seems just a little bit more untouchable in that large coat of his, but he does look so - so much more thickly muscular in this draping layer, and the tension is beginning to over boil just a little the more you look at him.

_Or that's just me,_ you groan to yourself.

"Good to know I could wreak a little justice then to thank you, without your regiment we'd be dead - so I suppose it's the least I can do," you murmur " - though there's a few more things that certainly come to mind," - you wonder then, as soon as the words leave your lips, if they're too callous and cheesy, or just unattractively to the point. He did, however, like dirty talk, right? You just had to strike the right mood - as if memory serves, the ride to the palace from the tavern was an easy sixty minutes if you had to guess, that's enough time alone, surely?

Erwin turns to look at you when you say that, raising a brow at you curiously, though the look in his eye has certainly shifted a bit as this statement soaks into his mind.

"Is that so?" he pauses a moment, as though making sure his voice is low enough, and twists his body a bit so his knees face you a little more, and he can lean directly into your closest ear. There's a trace of something curious and a little salacious in his tone, but not enough for you to notice much, distracted by his closeness. For a moment, you're not sure how to continue, and the sound of the carriage moving is the only thing between you two until you feel warmth seeping through your clothed knee to your skin, causing you to quickly look over and see his large, delicate hand neatly perched upon it.

You want to do the same to him, but it seems a little less effective under that thick, green trench coat and instead turn in a little, knees facing him in the same way he was looking at you, hand still on yours, making him lean forward a little into your space.

"Commander, I -- " you falter for a moment, and wonder how you're meant to pick up where you left off last night when the man had thrown you for such an unexpected loop that you'd lost some control over the situation. You're staring up at his immaculately handsome features and feel the words leaving your mind, a mental blank slate overcoming you the longer you gaze up at him. Every smarmy action, every forward flirtation you had in mind with the intent of it being smooth and seamless is suddenly robbed from you and dies in your throat when you see the way he looks at you - really looks at you - thinly veiled appreciation and all.

"I'm going to kiss you now," is what comes out instead, all pretense dropped as you blurt this announcement out - something about him was making you forget yourself at least a bit, leaning forward yourself, hands moving to find his shoulders for support so you can place your lips brashly against his own. You don't give him ample time to respond, but his body does, the hand that's on your knee moving to your waist instead and holding you in place. Surprisingly, he doesn't react too shocked or tense, or even too shy as he'd been the first few times you had touched him openly. 

The kiss isn't half as graceful as the litter that he'd laid across your jawline to your mouth, it's a little clumsy and wholly impatient - with a slight gnash of teeth and a firm tug of the lip, it isn't exactly tender, but it's absolutely voracious. It's greedy, ungracious and uncompromising, selfish and yearning in a way that the older man had never felt before. By the time you slowly pull back for air, his lip has swollen ever so slightly and the commander can feel a gentle sting that only truly hits him once the cool air hits his mouth and sends tingle of delight down his neck and back.

_Bit rough isn't she? -_ Nile's words are intrusive, but not incorrect, even the ever so slight throb of his lower lip is pleasant and something the commander finds much nicer than he should.

For a moment, neither of you say anything, but he's seeming just a little bit breathless and for you that's victory enough. You need to say something though, because that inquisitive yet lightly flushed face is too much to cope with, and the tension now is eerily similar to the night in the tavern, despite not doing something half so raunchy on the surface. Words seem to fail you, though - and not for any particular reason you can make sense of, it's a slew of emotions - most of which can be summed by the need for physical intimacy - but there's definitely more to it - things you're struggling to parse through. The way that the commander looks at you - even now, hasn't changed, even with all of the terrible and harsh things that had left your lips today, for every casual, unyieldingly brutal sentiment expressed, the man still looks at you like you're the best thing he's ever laid eyes on, reminding you very much of the way his eyes had first lingered on you the day you'd arrived covered in sweat, blood and grime to his secondary office. The way they had when he and Pixis had finally seen the successful shellfire deployment of the Ultra Long Range Bombardment Rifle, causing him to openly hold your hand and be unable to temper the urge to be touching you in some way.

_I'll crucify your enemies along Wall Maria and have the titans pick their bones -_ had done nothing to deter him, and unlike the MPs who had recoiled just a bit more, or the visible distaste that had graced Nile's face. Every little reveal that shaves off just a bit more of the flirtatious and overall casual demeanour revealing something just a bit more sinister and deadly did not appear to fill the man with any visible disgust.

In fact, he still looks at you with all of the hope and gratitude he'd had when you first washed up on his doorstep.

"I'm not a very patient woman," - it's at this moment that the commander is reminded of his words the night prior, where he insisted on some patience from yourself, just long enough for the events of today to happen without too much of a hitch. Your tone has a little petulance in it, and even though he's ever so slightly just too old for somebody so passionately fiery and young, who could indeed, probably have anybody they wanted - you look at Commander Erwin like you need him the way you need air - desperate for intimacy, easily beautiful enough to get it wherever you desired, but so deeply entrenched by his ministrations that you were willing to reserve your attentions solely for him. Erwin gathers his wits quickly and speaks in a low, delicate tone, because you don't immediately say anything when you've pulled back - giving him that blown out, keening stare he'd come to associate with having you pinned to the wall of the tavern, hips twitching into his fingers. 

"I gathered," his remark comes out deep and wry, referencing your casual dismissal of the small council and how easily you'd left them all once deeming it a waste of your time, rather than the bold kiss you'd planted on his mouth. A soft, deep sort of chuckle leaving the base of his chest when he feels your hands clambering onto his knees through his coat as you lean over his lap, like you're about to crawl over him on all fours. If he wasn't given such a private little window into all that you were, past all of the abrasiveness - to the woman who needed him to let them inside, and stay in his bed with you for the sole reason that you could not bare the burden of your own thoughts, and that silence was painful.

Between his years long dry spell and the fact you're poised like you could crawl over him like a tigress about to sink their teeth into something particularly enticing, it's difficult for him not to feel his control slip slightly. Even with how ruthlessly you presented, and dressed to the nines as you are, when you're looking at him like _that -_ the firm control that he was intent on maintaining until they reached the tavern again was very quickly becoming shaky. His breathing becomes just a little bit deeper under the intensity of the gaze you're looking up at him with, half bent over his body like that.

"In fact, I don't think I'm going to manage keeping my hands to myself for an hour," you confessed, because the man had indeed successfully left you in something of a state, and getting out of that small council meeting had never felt more pressing than when everything started veering towards the press packet. You had no issues with the public relations front of maintaining a good relationship with the scouts, but you would be very surprised if any of them had fraternisation in mind when that was brought up. 

In truth, you didn't trust yourself not to slip up, and so found reason to leave.

Between the smouldering desire in those molten gold eyes and how tremendously forward you're being, Erwin is hard pressed to disagree, but with people riding so close to the convoy - even with curtains drawn, the pair of you are making an effort to keep the intimate nature of the conversation in low tones - and damn, if you didn't look so damn _good_ in your ornate Legate's uniform. There was something entirely in its own league of tantalising and all together ego stroking about having not only such a spritely and admittedly gorgeous, young thing wanting and needing him so much, but equally, and somewhat more unjustifiably, it's just as appealing to have that kind of effect on someone so powerful. There was something to be said for the ability to make such a force of nature desperate for his touch, moaning into his mouth - someone who commanded such fear, awe and respect still absolutely hot under the collar for somebody like _him._

It's an ego boost, certainly - and he'd be lying if he tried to deny that it turned him on horribly - he'd certainly pleasured himself enough to the thought.

"Then we'll have to tide you over, won't we?" Erwin finds his voice, and though he has some uncertainty over his lack of recent practice - your impulsivity is rubbing off on him at least a bit. It's now that you clumsily throw your hands onto both of his shoulders to hoist yourself up, ready to crawl onto him until you feel a firm pair of hands on the small of your hips, dragging you against his body until you're sat quite forwardly on his lap, legs draped either side of his. Even through the thick, formal attire he's wearing, you can still feel a certain betraying firmness in his lap even under all of his layers, and just shift a little until you're comfortable. With your height, he's face level with your epaulettes, but still looks somewhat in control, though the gentle bumps of the carriage hitting the cobble paths had you shifting ever so slightly in just such a way that Erwin rues the general size of the carriage or he'd be be bouncing you on his lap with far more enthusiasm. The ceiling is, however, dreadfully low and you're both quite tall, with only enough room to sit and stretch your arms a bit.

"Oh, Commander!" a flash of a teasing smile on your face - it seems as though he was determined to keep his more forward approach, it's a pleasant turn of events from the man being too stiff and awkward to feel confident returning your touch and embrace. It seemed that all he needed was reminding that he was entitled to his more human desires, and that it was, in fact, alright and even welcomed by you - coming from a culture of openness and blunt affection. "I have to say, I rather like this side of you," you close your eyes and rock your hips against him a little, in a manner that's far too familiar and purposeful and has the man's stomach in knots even with this many layers of separation between your bodies.

_Oh, keep doing that..._

"I do prefer when men know what they want," you say, feeling Erwin's hands moving back to your hips again, which earned a thoughtful noise from the commander, who was seriously debating popping every gold button in sight across the numerous straps from each side of your jacket - he's certain you'd even let him, even though fraternising in a moving carriage probably ranked fairly highly in the list of bad ideas, because he isn't certain how much control he'd have in such a cramped space if you were to peel out of those layers, and in truth you do look so _good_ in them that he's in two minds about it.

"I believe you made that abundantly clear to the Queen's council," his voice lowered to a drawl, but it isn't a criticism, his lips curving into a smile again - he seems rather amused by it more than anything, or perhaps entertained is more the correct term. He can feel a rush of warmth pooling in his lower gut the way you rut against him. He looks up at you - which is not something he's often in a position to do, being as tall as he is, and you being close enough to his height, piercing blue eyes appreciating the long wavy dark locks and the scattered braids that framed your face. He's used to seeing you as something of a casual, hot mess and not so neatly done up with the intent of looking - well - _courtly -_ for lack of better term, but it's a good look - different, and every inch Vaziri, not the sort of thing he would see in these parts, and something that by its nature he found terribly appealing.

"So I'll confess it," he says, his fingers finding their way to one of your two belts, he glances up at you briefly again before he does this - as though searching for any sign of disapproval and being met only with a lusty bite of your lip and a spark of wanton lust spelled all over your face. To tell the truth, you weren't entirely certain of just how far this confident commander would go, or just where he was going with all of this, conscious of the low ceiling, all you can think about is the frenetic sexual tension that had reached over boil at this point and was difficult to keep back any further. "I've wanted this for some time my Dame," - and there isn't an inch of demureness or shame to be found on his features, because he _knows_ you want this, even if he doesn't fully understand it, he's certainly not going to stop it, not any more.

His words set something off inside of you though, and you cast your mind back to the sordid little moment in his office. In an effort to have some sort of control yourself, and keep the confidence of this self-confessed frigid man going - because God - you don't know if you could make do with a bedpost again. You look down at him from your towering height over him when you're perched like this, hands still steadied on either of his firm, broad shoulders.

"It's been a while - so you'll have to be patient with me," Erwin says, again, lacking in any shame, but rather saying it as a statement of fact, this does get a small little smirk on your face when he says something that sends all of your blood running hot and southward. "-And tell me _exactly_ what you like."

_Oh, yes._

The willingness of the man and his desire to please is something that isn't always the focus of every man, though in your opinion, it should be - the readiness to learn is very, very arousing - and the commander's unceasing curiousness seemed to translate to every facet of his life, even here, in this moment. He wants to learn _everything -_ all of the ticks of your body, he wants to map it out, tease it, pleasure it and revere it for all of your differences that he finds makes you so damnably beautiful to him. 

"Mm. We can arrange that," you murmur, feeling him unbuckle your belt and open it, not sliding it out of your belt loops but instead immediately going for the second one, so both go slack against your hips without discarding them to the ground utterly, in case either of you needed to quickly button up. "Hopefully it's everything you've wanted," you don't let those words go, he'd confessed them himself, and now they were hanging in the front of your mind, even when you feel his thumbs popping a small row of gold buttons, one by one that sat in the front of your crotch, getting a short gasp of approval.

"I'd hope I live up to the..." you trail off for a moment, leaning down to his mouth " - _fantasy."_

Now you absolutely _need_ to know. How long has he wanted you? Since you shared his bed and rubbed up against him? Since you bore you soul? The moment you met? You're deafeningly curious, and the part of you that is utterly aroused by the thought of the man working himself over to you absolutely starves to find out.

"It's been a while for me too," you add, lips pressing into his after the statement, but unlike the last one, this one is slower, and more purposeful, softer even - that has him unable to continue. Erwin closes his eyes for a moment, his hands pausing now that all buttons had been undone, revealing a small sliver of dark, exposed skin where the tiger marks finally ended. "Even longer since I've thought about a _man_ like this," a little playful pout on your lip, you move one hand from his shoulder to the back of his head, and thread your fingers through his neat, blond hair, mussing the locks ever so slightly. Erwin's eyes widen a bit in surprise, more so when you jerk his head back - not too hard, not enough to hurt, but forcefully enough for a short gasp to leave his throat as you make him look you in the eyes.

"You tease me too much Commander Erwin, I'm not one for touching myself over men as much as just... _having them,"_ your tone shifting to a low growl that he hadn't heard much of, but for once, was directed at him, and made his heart miss a beat. You punctuate your statement with an impatient little grind atop his military coat, knowing and feeling exactly what it's doing to him. You speak like you're a little offended by the fact you'd been kept waiting at all, but he can tell from how thick with lust your voice is that you'd enjoyed the game just as much.

_So damn enticing -_ is the only fragmented thought he manages when he feels you jerk his head up to angle his mouth to your lips again, as any more complicating thoughts are swept away in favour something a bit more carnal. This time, the kiss is harsh, just as the first, with small tugs between your teeth, but finishes with a delicate sweep of the tongue across the lightly abused flesh of his lower lip that sends it tingling in his jaw and goosebumps down his arms and back once more. It's simultaneously punishing and sweet, lauding his mouth with attention he doesn't think he's ever had in his entire life, he's surprised when he's able to bite back the low groan that threatened to leave him.

"In fact, I've been having to relieve myself with disappointing regularity since I got to this miserable little place," a small put-upon sigh leaving you as Erwin feels his throat drying up and his dick getting harder with every word punctuating the all together too dominating and sensually frenzied actions. 

_I shouldn't have told her how much this kind of talk gets to me -_ he realises uncomfortably, when his erection becomes so present that even through the layer of his coat and both of your uniforms, he feels so much more sensitive to the sensation of your backside on his lap and every little shift, every incidental little bump of the carriage that moved your body and the flex of your muscles as you tensed and moved with tantalising purpose that did nothing but increase the steady mounting ache and throb in his crotch.

As though somehow following his thoughts, you closed your eyes a moment and rut against him just a bit, feeling distinctly uncomfortably aroused yourself in your uniform, knowing there's so few things between you other than a lack of space and low ceiling preventing you from unbuckling the man and having him slip you one right then and there. 

"I'm wondering if you have been too, if you've been wanting this a while," your voice lowered to a delicate whisper as you kept a tight grip of his hair, forcing him to absorb your words directly into his ear. "As someone's already a little too excited," you murmur, though not mockingly, you acknowledge his arousal with a self-satisfied sort of smirk that oozes of a kind of sexual confidence that he's not at all used to associating with women, but finds himself desperately attracted to it, like moth to flame. It's now that Erwin is reminded that he has, in fact, had his wandering eye caught by you in the past, and acknowledged at least once - but doesn't feel much regret for it - not right now, as it's leading to _this._

"Mn-- _Commander!"_ it comes out as a strangled gasp, an appreciative noise leaving your throat when Erwin feels himself give in a little bit when his hips twitch up into you, pressing his erection against your ass through the layers of clothing and coat for a modicum of sweet relief that only makes his ache of desire that much more pressing after the fact. 

"Too much," it comes out a little more breathy than Erwin would like, eyes roving down to the sliver of exposed, tanned flesh from your unbuttoned trousers, hungry to take in the fraction of exposed flesh he had yet to see. "- since you've arrived, Legate. Just a bit too much," - which earns him another steady grind, the movement of which revealed a little more as the trousers became just a tad more slack. The thought of the man - as put together and passively frigid as he'd been when you'd first met, working himself over to the thought of you even prior to last night is enough to send your mind to utter depravity - wondering just what he thought about - and what exactly got a man like him going as an object of his desires. What did he think about, how often would he touch himself? These thoughts melted together until all you could feel was how utterly sodden you were getting, some wetness rubbing from one thigh against the other, causing you to loosen the grip in his hair for a moment so the hand that was there now finds itself gently cupping the left side of his face, feeling those elegant cheekbones against the flat of your palm.

Considering how hot and heavy everything was becoming in this tiny carriage, the touch is reverential and fond - almost jarringly innocent compared to everything else between your bodies right now. Erwin feels himself fall into a naturally half-lidded stare, leaning into the calloused touch and looking up at you with an amalgam of wantonness and wonder.

"Really now?" you mumble, glancing down at the unbuttoned crotch before raising your eyes back to meet his. 

_Good answer, Commander Erwin._

"That's - " you rock a little more against him, breathing out deeply and slowly " - That's turning me on so fucking much, Gods, why didn't you say something sooner?" a vague note of irritation in your voice, as you prefer not to skirt around the obvious, and what was happening between you and the Survey Corps commander was far more drawn out than you are used to. Your bluntness actually gets a small, involuntary shudder of delight down the older man's spine, as he's forced to reckon with the fact that you're dreadfully aroused by the thought of getting him all worked up - he'd be a little disbelieving, that you're just saying it for the sake of getting him hot and bothered and under your spell - but your next words blank his mind - reminding him to go back to his promise of _tiding you over_ until the pair of you get back to the tavern.

"You can have anyone you want, I didn't think you'd--" _you're young and beautiful. I'm old and out of practice. You can do much better -_ unsurprising thoughts, at one point Erwin Smith was probably one of the most disliked men in the entire country, and even now the Corps is in public favour, he doesn't have a reputation that lends others towards treating him this way.

You snort a bit at this, shaking your head dismissively and move the thumb of the hand that's still cupped on his face, teasing over the handiwork you'd made of his lip, which had swollen ever so slightly from the greedy treatment you had been showering him with. It's not the sort of touch he's accustomed to, even now that he'd become more receptive to it, it makes him feel as though he's caught between your teeth and can't quite escape, but he's in far too deeply now, and hasn't wanted to for a second.

" - Oh pssh, you're an absolute feast for the eyes and if you want to know how badly I want you, why don't you have a feel for yourself, hm?" your words making his doubts die in his throat as you cut him off. You're callous and blunt about it, but the man doesn't need to be told twice. An anticipatory tremble overcomes his fingers just a little as they slide down your hips, and he moves his right hand against the warmth of your lower abdomen. Erwin isn't quite sure he'd call himself a feast for the eyes, but he's certainly not insecure - not about his looks, anyway, even if his nose is on the larger end of things, and his ears just a bit too--

Okay, maybe he's very aware of what he perceives as flaws, but he doesn't dwell on them, he knows he's quite handsome, at least. It's just not something he thinks about much, but having it thrown in his face is something else. 

"Yes, my Dame," he murmurs back, his watching his fingers slide down your front until they disappear into your undone trousers. "No underwear?" he's not sure _why_ that was something that bypassed the filter from his brain to his mouth, the shock of feeling nothing but your skin had hit him quite abruptly however, and all you do is give him a flat _well duh,_ sort of look.

"I don't have any," replying blandly, as it seemed personal essentials were a little overlooked and what Blouse had been purchasing was on an as and when basis, as much as he wants to say something self-assured and typically Erwin about getting that sorted, taking Blouse aside and having a day allocated to getting you all the things you actually need chosen from the city markets, all he can think of is the night you slept beside him, and the fact that you really had lain next to him completely exposed with nothing but a threadbare flap of cloth from a long dress shirt to cover you.

_She just slept next to me like that? Lord, does she know what that does to a man? Of course she does. She's too much._

"Oh," is the only reply he can muster, breathing in deeply as his hand slinks into the depths of your trousers, hidden from view - his fingers immediately becoming gloved in a soft, wet coating all the way down to his knuckle the deeper he slides his hand down your front.

Embarrassingly, it's been long enough since it's been somebody else's hand that a soft mewl of delight leaves your lips before you can stop it, your body jerking forward in response, pushing your chest against his face with a passionate relish. Your arms wrap around the back of his head and embrace him before you let go a little, hands back on his shoulders now as you look at the gap between your bodies to see how his wrist moves above the unbuttoned flaps of your trousers. Erwin had a sense of just how backed up you were the night previous, but right now there's no separation, and he's not dragging and rubbing your clothes against all of your sensitive parts, instead, it's his long, slender fingers, sending his mind plummeting all the way down to his dick, his urges betraying him completely.

_God it's so wet -_

"Tell me how you like it," he breathes, watching as you bite down on your lip and look at him with a hooded stare, a noticeable flush on your features and nothing but molten want burning in the fires of your eyes. 

"A-ah - a bit - down, slowly - just - yes, like that," you gasp out, feeling him slide his finger down the front of your pussy until he's teasing your entrance, feeling the heat between your legs encase him utterly, he watches the way your expression twists and changes to unbidden desire when he traces over your entrance again and again with a torturous, desperate circles that seemed to do nothing but drag up more of a thick, coating wet around his digits until he can feel himself throbbing painfully against his own thigh. Erwin, though out of practice, is perceptive - and reads the way your back arches with pleasure when he finds a rhythm in his strokes, before gently teasing the sweet bundle of nerves at the hood of your pussy - as you're utterly expressive in every way and right now, he finds himself enslaved by it. Occasionally, he switches to brushing his knuckle against your clit as he works his way around your body, and all you can do is twitch and grind against him haplessly.

"Y-you're good at this," you stifle a moan into the back of your wrist, as you feel him tentatively slide a long, middle digit inside of your pussy, his thumb carefulling to continue its ministrations outside - it's enough to get you buckling a bit - it's been over a _month -_ and this man is - _so receptive -_ and more so - just - _so soft_ with his fingers where it counts, that you think if he keeps that up, you could finish from that alone and do your best to temper yourself the more he lets his exploratory touch send you an inch closer to a knee-trembling bliss that would have you mess your uniform right then and there.

And then - he moves it, just the finger of course, it's a bit clumsy at first, but finds a quick rhythm with his thumb, and the small carriage suddenly fills with very sordid, very _wet_ rubbing sounds that are just so fleshy and indicative of the fact you were soaking him down to the knuckle that even the sound of him sinfully working your pussy and moving his hand tortuously slowly between your legs is enough to crumble his resolve when it results in you softly squeaking his name, absent of his title, directly into his ear.

" Fn- _\- Erwin!"_ that's too much, and a deep, erotic sort of sound that he's never heard himself make leaves his throat, because he isn't sure he's ever wanted someone so badly in his life, even at this age - the sensation of being completely gloved like this is too much for his dick to cope with. It's all just too pleasantly warm, and all-encompassing and utterly waterlogged for him to do anything except allow his hips to jerk up into your backside again in a muted effort to match your grinding and something else escapes the filter.

_"I want to be inside you Legate,"_ it comes out as a low, rumbling, almost pathetic sort of moan because the tavern is so close, but feels so far, and he feels his ears burn from the salaciousness of what he's said when he hears it himself as an almost out of body experience, like he's being taken over by all of his wants.

"Keep talking like that and doing what you're doing and you'll finish me," you gasp out, eyes rolling back a little bit as you suddenly close them, which is a sign for him to slowly stop, making you let out a long, petulant whine as you felt your heart beating steadily with the pulsing sensation of your pussy around his fingers. He doesn't pull them out, but they come to a gentle halt when he realises you're building and building with more desire, hips twitching and riding on his fingers in such a way that his fantasy of you doing so seems so much less arousing than having the real damned thing.

"I'm going in first," his voice low, husky and surprisingly authoritative as he speaks. "Wait fifteen minutes, find a reason to go, and follow me upstairs."

The carriage is coming to a small stop now, the convoy had been slowing for a while, and reluctantly, hearts pounding, he's having to withdraw his fingers with a downright sinful little _schlick_ that he swears is going to haunt him for the brief few minutes he has to stand around and pretend he isn't hideously erect underneath his clothes while he clambers up to his room and he waits for you to follow you up with at least a _little_ subtlety in an attempt to lessen the very obvious fraternisation happening, because, somehow, Erwin very much doubts that this sort of public intermingling is what _anybody_ had in mind.

You hurriedly do your belts and buttons up, eyes wide, neither of you even stopping to think of the mess you'd made of Erwin's hair as he jumps out of the carriage.

_Fucking tease._

_I'll get you for that._


End file.
